Lost Between the Lines
by Canadian Apologies
Summary: Alfred Jones is what you'd call a "normal" high school student just about to graduate, but he feels like he's missing something out of his life. That is, until he meets an usual student, Arthur Kirkland. And as soon as he meets him, they're attached at the hip. But what makes him so unusual? He's mute. Though, how can a person form a relationship with someone that cannot speak?
1. Chapter 1

Alfred F. Jones walked into the classroom, after catching up with his previous year acquaintances. He strode through the door with the clang of the late bell tailing after him. His fingers childishly ran through his metallicy blond locks, still unable to restrain that rebellious cowlick, and readjusted his thin spectacles.

"You got lucky this time, Jones," the instructor does not even give him a glance. Not like he wasn't used to it, or anything. "Sit down."

Alfred did as he was told, beside a spacey ash blond boy. At first, he paid no attention to the teen, but he quickly changed his mind when he captured a glimpse of his emerald eyes darting away. Jones blinked as he paused for a moment of recollection; had he caught that boy giving him the eyes?

It didn't matter to Alfred what the other guy's intentions with his eyes were. All he had to go off on was that they were huge and beautiful, if he knew any better. He did not get a good enough glance, but was determined to steal back the chance.

Alfred reached a hand over to the boy's shoulder. He flinched in a manner that rubbed off as scared, or intimidated. In all honesty, it was probably his staggering build which, in comparison to the lanky blond, was significant.

"Yo, what's up?" he struck up a conversation. The other adolescent just shoved his face deeper into his novel, almost completely obscuring his face in the abundance of pages. His reddened ears were still in view.

Curious, Alfred wrenched his neck to get a peek at the cover. He smiled, "Hey, I read Harry Potter, too. I like 'The Chamber of Secrets'. Which book is your favorite?"

The thin teenager raised his shoulders to his earlobes, almost in a way that said, "please stop talking to me". Again, almost. He leaned back in his seat and half chuckled, "Shy?"

This seemed to loosen up the other one, as he peered his eyes up at him from behind his book. At this moment, Alfred F. Jones felt his heart stutter like a socially awkward boy at his Bar Mitzvah speech.

Staring into this boy's eyes literally felt like frolicking through a field of daisies and sunshine for an eternity. Staring into his eyes was like getting a lifetime's shipment of happiness, wrapped in a little green bow. His eyes were, undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing Alfred had seen in a very long time.

He gaped at the teen longer than he'd ever admit, discomfort scrawled across the other's ivory powdered face as he lowered his novel to stare back. Alfred took the opportunity to notice as much of his attire as his peripheral vision would allow.

He was practically swimming in this black oversized sweater Alfred was half convinced was bought in the women's section. Although the fabric was sort of thinly knitted, it was definitely too hot outside to wear that. The hem of a white t-shirt peeked out from underneath that suffocating coverup. His gothic outfit really made Alfred feel like a prep in his varsity jacket and plain khakis.

When he refocused his attention completely to his face again, Alfred saw something in the boy's gaze that made him completely forget his existence, and slow the racing pace of time. Though he wasn't convinced of the illusion and was aware of his settings, he wanted to believe it. To stay like this forever, stare beauty in the eye for a million years. This scenario was enough to drain the confidence right out of the school's biggest jock in a matter of seconds.

"Alfred!" the teacher called. He lost their little staring contest, and he turned to raise his brows at her. "Are you here?"

"What?" he asked absent mindedly, blinking his eyes for clarity.

"Good _God_ , Alfred," she exasperated. "Roll call. Are you present?"

"Well, ya see me here, dontcha?" he light heartedly retorted in attempts to impress the boy next to him. His teacher, however, did not seem pleased.

"Say, 'here'," she demanded.

Alfred gave in and suspired, "Here!"

"Alright," she went down the list, her resting bitch face seething with teacherly rage.

The golden blond turned to his side again, and asked, "So, you got a name? Mine's Alfred, obviously. But it's actually Alfred F. Jones. You can call me Alfred, F., or Jones."

The green eyed boy did not reply, but only took those gems away from Alfred to look at the book. He was starting to feel ignored; was it bad to feel jealous of a book? Or was he being rude, and that's how the beetle browed teen responded to things of that nature?

"Arthur?" the teacher declared, surveying the room. A surge of excitement shot through Alfred as his ocean blue eyes flashed at the boy beside him. If that was this guy's name, he would assuredly say something. "You can just raise your hand."

The boy raised his hand farthest from Alfred, and the athlete's jaw hit the desk. This middle aged bitch never _once_ let anyone just raise their hand. Even if she was staring right at you, more like right _through_ you, she still made you say you were present. Why was this kid's case different?

The old bat began class orientation, but Alfred had long checked out. He was too distracted by Arthur, if that was definitely his name. He mulled over the name, and pronounced it in his head. _Arthur._ _Arrr… thur._ It sounded captivating, something he wouldn't ever get sick of hearing.

"So, since it's the beginning of the year, we're going to do ice breakers," the teacher informed, the class groaned. Alfred looked at Arthur from the corner of his eye, and saw him heating up. "This can be done with a partner, and Arthur?"

He looked up at her, and she omitted, "If you don't want to do it, I suppose you don't have to."

Relief washed over the smaller blond, and he continued with his 'Harry Potter' novel. Alfred, however, was more pissed than ever. His strategy had been shot down faster than it came to him. _Totally_ unfair.

"Alright, so everyone else can get in pairs."

People instantly came together like freaking magnets, and in a matter of a minute, everybody had someone. Everybody expect Alfred. What was he taken for? A Goddamn freak of nature?

The instructor noticed his loneliness after a short time, and came to his desk. "Arthur? I'm sorry, but could you work with Alfred? He doesn't have anyone else. You don't have to go along with it, necessarily, but just let him finish it. Would that be alright?"

He nodded, Alfred noticed Arthur's feminine jawline. He bet someone wouldn't even have to apply much pressure to it for the bone to snap, that's how gentle it looked. For some unclear reason, he wanted to drag his fingers down the hazel eyed boy's body part. Perhaps it was just curiosity.

"Okay, I'll leave you two to it," she began to depart, but halted to remind, "And don't be rude, Alfred."

He rolled his eyes and picked up his pencil to begin the worksheet handed out. "Alrighty, then. So, we gotta fill this bitch out, right?"

Arthur, of course, said nothing. So, Jones continued, "Okie dokie. What's the first question on here?"

He stalled for as long as he could to see if the other blond would fill in the blank, but was proved wrong. "When is your birthday?"

Arthur unexpectedly took Alfred's paper, and penned in a cursive sort of font: _April 23._

Any remaining uncertainty to how the assignment was going to be finished due to his partner's lack of a sense were answered. Although, he couldn't help but to think about the student's birth month. It rained a lot in April; it made Alfred wonder if Arthur liked rain, or being in the rain. Or being in the rain with him.

Alfred noticed Arthur parted his lips enough to signify an upcoming monologue, which made the American cling to the edge of the seat. The blond appeared to struggle tremendously with the simple task, and failed in the long run. He slipped his even hands into his extra long sweater sleeves and turned slightly the other way.

"Um, well," Alfred caught on to the boy's struggles. "My birthday is July fourth. You know, just like our country!"

Arthur flinched, but proceeded to fill in the answer. With his newfound confidence, Alfred picked up his paper, and read, "What are some of your hobbies?"

He quirked a suggestive brow, and said playfully, "Well, I like sports and stuff as much as the next guy, but I'm afraid some of my hobbies can't be said out loud."

Arthur snorted air through his nostrils and cracked a smile at his joke. Alfred stopped, and so did his heart. His smile was… incredible. And he bet it would be even more incredible if he said something funnier. Maybe Arthur would show teeth, or even laugh. Leave it to Alfred F. Jones to make a joke funny enough to bring people to tears.

"Okay, next question," he sped up the process. "Where were you born?"

Arthur slid the paper towards him, and wrote: _London, England._

So, Arthur was British? Yes, he quite liked the sound of that. He imagined how beautiful his voice would be, or how he would purr with that alluring accent. Now Alfred was more determined than ever to hear how he sounded.

"Okay, well," he shared the paper and drew a stick figure diagram of a woman giving birth. "Here, we have Mama Jones' vagina, and this little pimp that came out of her is me! And that's where I came from!"

Arthur clasped a hand over his mouth and spun the opposite way. _Damn_ , he was hiding it. Alfred inclined onto the desk to get a look, and defended, "Well, it's true! Where do you think _you_ came from?"

The blond faced him properly when he was done, but when they came within eye contact, Arthur accidentally flashed his upper band of pearly whites.

Alfred experienced his heart beat waver for the millionth time at the sight of his grin. It was absolutely perfect. His teeth were as white and straight as a Republican politician. His eyes wrinkled at the corners with glee; it was as if Alfred had did a great deed by making this one person in particular smile.

"So," he stammered. Alfred glanced at the paper and got an idea, regaining his confidence. With a high and mighty tone, he requested, "The next question here asks, 'Can I hear your accent?'"

Arthur gave an expression that portrayed half amusement and half reluctance. It was kind of cute, according to Alfred. The Englishman wrote down: _That isn't the question._

Jones knew exactly how to win this, and to get what he wanted. In his illegible chicken scratch, he noted right beside Arthur's flowy handwriting: _I know, I just wanted to hear it._

The boy appeared to be shocked at his method of response, but answered nonetheless. _I don't talk._

 _I've figured that much out. Why not?_

There was a long wait as Arthur got back to him, leaving him wondering if he would disclose important information.

 _I can't say._

 _Oh_. If he wanted to play _that_ game, Alfred was going to kick his ass. He scratched: _You can tell_ me _, right?_

Arthur glanced up and shook his head, the American feeling defeated. When had he ever been turned down before? Alfred had the looks and the charm. Basically, he was virtually irresistible to anyone who met him. It was frustrating to know that he was turned down, and Alfred F. Jones _always_ got what he wanted.

He scribbled on the worksheet: _Is there anything you_ can _tell me?_

Arthur's gentle gaze studied the question before he answered: _I can't talk to people._

There was the catch; Alfred had developed feelings over the past class period for someone who would never talk to him. He reasoned with himself, was it possible to fall in love with someone without them saying a word to him? It was highly unlikely.

 _How come?_

Arthur's pencil danced on the paper, and provided: _It's too hard._

The athletic teen was taken aback. This was a first for him to have a crush on a person like Arthur, if he could even call it that. He looked fine on the outside, the ideal image of beauty. Was he mentally ill? If so, why was he put in a regular class, seeing how the school always put students like him in Special Ed? It perplexed Alfred in an enthralling way.

 _But I still want to know more about you._

The Brit peeked at the paper with those oh-so-perfect orbs, and his snow skin turned pink.

 _I don't think you can._

Alfred had a final thought before making up his mind. He was becoming definitely infatuated with this kid, but he didn't know exactly why. Although Arthur was not talking to anybody, he still seemed like he needed a friend, and Alfred was set on retrieving that position, at least.

"Okay," the golden blond agreed out loud. He winked, "But I'm still gonna try."

Arthur's cheeks tinted carnation pink again, and their instructor made her rounds to their seats.

"Are you bothering him, Alfred?" she became suspicious. Surprisingly, the dusty blond shook his head for him. It brought the muscular one ease; at least the pupil didn't consider him annoying.

"Okay, then," she stalked off, still giving Alfred the stink eye. What a bitch.

"So, Arthur," he purposely repeated his name, just to see if he _would_ get tired of hearing it. _Arthur._ Nope. "I still wanna talk about your quietness."

Arthur flashed his eyes, as if to say, 'are you out of your goddamn mind?', but Alfred just held his chin in his palm animatedly.

"Why're ya so shy?" the American began interrogation. _How can you be so quiet? I think it's adorable._ "It's really weird."

He looked slightly offended, his stark brows sewn together as he bit down on his bottom lip. Alfred couldn't get enough of Arthur's supposed angry expression. He looked kind of hot when he was mad, Alfred estimated.

 _A strangely attractive weird._ "But, a cool kinda weird, ya know?" he covered up.

Arthur retrieved their forgotten assignment, and wrote a sentence or so on it. Alfred batted his Texas sky eyes as he read it.

 _I can only talk to people I'm comfortable with, alone. I have problems talking in groups._

The thick headed teen started to understand the other blond's situation. Maybe the English boy actually _had_ a mental issue, but Alfred put it in the back of his mind. He would probably do some serious research on WebMD and Wikipedia when he got home.

"Wow, you're really throwin' me off, here," he ruffled his sandy hair. "But in a good way!"

Arthur gave a weak smile, but nothing comparable to the one he was wearing earlier. For some reason, Alfred had the strong desire to take a photograph of the student smiling. Still, he wanted to hear how his voice sounded, if it were a low grumble, or a soft tone. However the pitch was, that alluring accent would certainly make it sexier.

He almost hated to admit to the fact he was taking a liking to the teen, despite that he refused to say a single word. Most people would have given up on him by this point, but that only pulled Alfred in even deeper.

"What, so you _literally_ can't talk?" he suggested a little too stern for his original initiative.

Arthur wrote down: _Mentally speaking, no. Physically, yes._

"Then what?"

The quiet boy hesitated with his response, but eventually addressed, _It's complicated._

Alfred examined the note, and decided to respect his privacy. Although, he could not shake off the feeling he was being pushed to the side. Then again, even their bitchy English teacher gave him special treatment, so he knew that something was up.

"Oh, okay then," he said solemnly. He rested his cheek in his hand, and noticed something written on the hazel eyed one's body.

Alfred raised a lazy finger, "What's that on your right hand?"

Arthur's darling pair of eyes laid upon his hand, resting on the desk, and snatched it back. The spectacled teen knitted his eyebrows as the foreigner hid his limb in his sweater sleeve. Okay, so it was probably something _else_ he wasn't supposed to know about. He felt that he was being shut out, but he settled on being more persistent. Maybe all Arthur needed was a little push. Or a big one, in this case.

"Um, so do you want to know some stuff 'bout me?" Alfred suggested as content. Arthur shrugged, and a lightbulb flickered. He crossed his arms and flicked his head, "Well, _damn!_ You think I'm gonna sell my ass out for a _shrug?_ "

Arthur snorted again, and displayed those perfect teeth, as he shook his head. The accomplishment made Alfred want to jump for joy.

He folded his arms on the desk, and Arthur mimicked. "Did you know that I played a sport every season every year so far? And that I'm gonna get a scholarship for it?"

Arthur shook his head, and he added, "Well, it's true! And did you also know that I own a Chevy? Like, a real one?"

Arthur raised a brow, and he detailed, "Yeah, it's a red convertible, Chevy Impala, 1970. Got it from my old man."

Arthur was scribbling down something, and he presented the paper: _How do you drive something that old?_

He gasped, "How rude of you, sir!" Alfred was blinded once again by the British man's smile. "It's because I take care of her, obviously!"

He reached his left hand over to the worksheet again, and asked: _Do you drive it like a regular car?_

"Nah, not really. I drive ma's car for work and stuff," Al explained. "She's an antique, so I don't want to overwhelm her."

Arthur cocked his head and inquired, _She?_

"Yes!" he defended. "Her name's Eleanor, for your information!"

The lighter blond took his time, and penned: _That's a nice name. Did you pick it out?_

Al mulled it over, "I wish, but no. Like I said, my dad had her before I did. So he was the one who named her."

He bobbed his head in a 'oh, I see' sort of gesture, and Alfred continued.

"You know, maybe one day," he glinted the Atlantic Ocean down at the youngster, "we can take a ride in it together."

A feeling of self accomplishment washed over Alfred. Nailed it. Arthur brought the paper he had been writing all over all class under his fingertips to inscribe a new message.

 _You're very weird._

"Weird how?" He nearly able to rest his head on the other male when he swiveled his neck down at him. "A _bad_ weird?"

He smiled, and covered his mouth with his right hand, his thumb hanging onto the end of his sleeve for dear life. There, Alfred saw the message again, and now it was undeniable; Arthur had a tattoo. The mere thought left the jock breathless. His eyes quickly assessed his skin for what the rest of the design consisted of, but he was only able to evaluate that it was a single word by what few letters he could catch.

An "S" and a "T". What words could be made out of those letters? He let his mind wander until their instructor came waddling back. "I'm checking in one last time," she warned. "What've you boys gotten done so far?"

Alfred proudly presented their paper, the one with his stick figure birth, to her. She furrowed her brows and he caught Arthur smirking out of the corner of his eye.

The middle aged woman put her hands on her hips and reprimanded, "What? Do you think this is funny, Mr. Kirkland?"

Jones stopped for a minute to consider his situation. That he was spending all this time trying to loosen Arthur up, to befriend him, but he didn't know as much as his _last name._

Now possible contenders for his middle name flooded his thoughts, leaving him wondering if it was as British-y as his surname. Or just as sexy.

"And don't think you're off the hook, either, Jones!" she brought him back from outer space.

He glanced back at the inappropriate drawing the modest teacher was displaying to the pair. Alfred's eyes met Arthur's through his lashes, and they simultaneously snickered. The quiet one placed a hand to his mouth to prevent any vocal leakage, but the loud one burst out in disrespectful laughter.

"I don't understand what is so funny, you two!" she tried to scold. "If you're going to act like this all year, then should I move your seats _now?_ "

They both instantly shook their heads and hands. Alfred pleaded, "No way! We'll follow directions! Don't move us!"

She wrinkled her preexisting aging face at them, and settled, "Fine. But not another word."

Alfred found the orders ironic for the shy boy next to him, but damn near impossible for himself. He leaned over and hushed, "Isn't she such a _bitch?_ "

Arthur nodded and Goldilocks pursed his lips as he glared daggers at the Literature teacher.

Throughout the rest of the period, Alfred occasionally stole glances at the smaller adolescent. After a few times, he realized he was breathing heavily, catching his breath. Christ, this was going to be a longer ride than it needed to be. Though, he had a feeling that he wouldn't mind.

* * *

Alfred shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and strut down the hallway. He exchanged a few high fives and fist bumps until he arrived to his group of popular and athletic friends. In all honesty, he didn't like them very much. All they did was trash talk other teams and flex their muscles around girls.

Alfred never liked doing that, and it was absolutely embarrassing when they did, since he was the odd one out. They acted like total assholes, and then there was Alfred F. Jones.

"'Sup, Jones," Yao nodded his head.

Alfred returned the gesture, and another gigantic, fair haired teen spoke, "How's the first week back been treating you?"

"Eh," he shrugged. "I mean, it's just school, but it's senior year."

Ivan brushed his light pigmented hair out of his eyes, and laughed, "It's got to be good for something, right?"

Yao, a long haired Chinese boy, toyed with his brown pony tail, "So, you're on the team again this year?"

The mental, not to mention imaginary, scene of Arthur waiting in the bleachers on game days with his jacket draped over his shoulders popped into his head. Alfred smiled, "Yes, yes I am."

"What other sports are you going to do?" Ivan asked.

"Uh, I might do swimming again, that was kinda fun," he suggested. "Maybe wrestling, definitely baseball. I'll just see where this year takes me."

"Yeah, it would be cool if you participated in a sport every year in high school," Yao praised. "You're going to keep it up?"

"I guess, but lately, I've been considering about joining—"

"Oh, sorry, Alfred," Ivan with the thick Russian accent grabbed Yao's wrist, and took off. "I see Madeline!"

Enraged, the American pursued without a second thought, "Hey, back off, man!"

Ivan tossed the other boy's limb, and used his newly freed hand to run his fingers through his hair. "Hey there, Maddie."

She jerked her wheat blonde pigtails and scoffed, "I told you not to call me that, Ivan."

Alfred finally caught up with the duo, and forbade, "Dude, hands off my sister!"

"I think that if Maddie likes me, my hands should be allowed anywhere on her pretty little body, right?" he theorized.

"Tough cookies, 'cause I'm not interested," Madeline snapped and started walking again, the trio trying to keep up with her.

"I'm being serious," Alfred furrowed his brow. "Stay away from her." Ivan chuckled, and the blond affirmed, "I mean it, commie! Don't even spit in her direction!"

"I can talk for myself, Alfie," the petite girl said, repositioning her books in her fragile arms.

The Russian pointed to her stash of textbooks and offered, "Here, I can carry your books for you, my dear."

Madeline squinted her eyes up at the ten inch height difference between her and the boy. "My _what?_ "

"My dear," Ivan said matter-of-factly. "It's no different from lovely, sweetheart, darling, baby—"

Alfred clamped a hand on his shoulder, his legs doing a terrible job of keeping up the group. "I meant what I said, Ivan. Whether we're friends or not, I _will_ kick your ass."

The pale adolescent brushed aside, "Come on now, Alfie"

 _"Alfred,"_ he growled to correct.

Madeline huffed and branched off into another hallway. Ivan disregarded, "Oh well. Yao and I have to get to get to math, anyway."

Alfred screwed up his face as they departed. The late bell rang, and he realized that he passed his next class twice.

* * *

Alfred once again caught himself thinking about the silent Englishman, in the middle of science class. He didn't even want to work, which was odd for him. Science was the best, and easiest, subject for him. It would take a lot to distract him from it.

Jones imagined a scenario where Arthur was his little plaything, where he could pick him up and did as he pleased with him. Now all he wanted to do was hold Arthur, not this boring science stuff.

"Jones!"

He jumped at his name, and the teacher asked, "You alright? It looked like you were in your own little world."

Al shook his head, and the instructor shrugged it off. He was left to his thoughts once again, and felt just as distracted as before. He tore out a piece of paper and wrote more lyrics, acting like he was working.

 _And I'd give up forever to touch you. You're the closest to Heaven that I'll ever be._

He completely gave up on at least listening to the lesson. There was no way in Hell his brain would allow him to think about anything else other than Arthur.

 _And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand._

Alfred felt like an over emotionally middle schooler as he thought of other songs that reminded him of the English student.

 _Now that he's back in the atmosphere with drops of in his hair._

He suspired and wished that he had enough talent to draw. It would be nice to draw a portrait of Arthur's angelic features, so he would have something to look at when he wasn't able to be in the British boy's presence.

 _Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought. Maybe I just wanna be yours._

* * *

Alfred's lips curled cautiously around the Hot Pocket sleeve as his hands struggled with his laptop and shooing his cat.

"Go away, Junior!" he muffled from behind the obstruction. The brown and white feline purred and nested itself in his Captain America bedsheets. Alfred respired, and settled for a spot on his bed next to the cat.

He adjusted the computer to his lap, and finally got the chance to eat his 'dinner'. Junior eyed the tanned teen for a bit, and he forbade, "No, get lost!"

He didn't listen. The cat went into a meowing frenzy and kept repositioning itself, just to annoy his owner. The golden haired boy whined, "Jones Junior, so help me God!"

The cat halted, and somehow managed to look sympathetic as Alfred met his gaze. "It's not my fault you're being so annoying!"

Junior laid back down, and Al was finally at peace from his nagging. He began surfing the web for answers, referring to his plans made earlier.

He typed in: what are some types of mutism? Links in blue flashed: mutism, various types of mutism, muteness, the list went on and on.

Naturally, Alfred clicked the first site on the list. He skimmed through the passage, bearing what few details Arthur had told him in mind. As his research went on, he was able to set in stone that the cause of most cases of mutism were from physical problems, being born with it, or from forms of anxiety.

Arthur had said that he _couldn't_ talk, not that he _wouldn't._ So, Al determined his case to be caused by anxiety. He kept reading, and learned that muteness induced by anxiety was classified as 'selective mutism'.

He did not like how that term influenced the dark side of his imagination. He cleared the search engine and tried, "What is selective mutism?" He, again, selected the first thing offered to him, and dove into more research.

 _"Selective mutism is an abnormal type of anxiety disorder where a person cannot speak in specific situations or to specific people."_

Alfred scrolled down the page and learned that Arthur was capable of talking, but not in public, persay. He could be able to talk at home, but would be too anxious to talk to strangers.

The incident earlier that day hit him like an ongoing bus. The tenacious way he trying to get to know the boy, Alfred feared, might have bombarded him.

He continued and read related anxieties and mental afflictions. Social anxiety, ADHD/ADD, autism. Arthur couldn't possibly have all those things wrong with him.

Alfred sat in self reflection as he made that assumption. Arthur had some form of an ailment, something that would undoubtedly keep them apart.

His super hero instincts kicked in, and he scanned the list of symptoms. Difficulty making eye contact, shyness, reluctance to smile. He paused, "But didn't I make him laugh earlier?"

Not particularly; although Alfred made him smile, maybe he caught him off guard. Then again, he didn't want to treat this "mutism" thing like it was incurable. He looked for causes, and examined a portion of the content.

"Severe trauma in early childhood, OCD, depression." There was no way he was going to pinpoint a single reason for it. He did not have enough information.

Alfred snorted, thinking about the possible ways he could romantically get to the Brit, and smirked, " _Yet."_

Although, the more he thought about it, how was he going to fill in the blanks? He didn't know if Arthur was moderately comfortable around him, much less willing to serve his background on a silver platter. Yet, his desperation was too grand.

With his lips parted and eyebrows raised, Alfred wondered, "How far can I get with him? Is Arthur even capable of loving me back?"

* * *

 _AN: So that's that. This has been the only thing I could work on for a straight week. Don't worry, though. I promise I'll haul ass on the other updates. Feel free to leave a review and tell me what you think ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred made sure he could get to class on time that day, his pencil tapped furiously on his third period math desk. His Texas sky eyes gazed at the clock, his attention span and hopes for the remainder of the lesson shriveled up like a raisin in the sun.

Once the bell rang, Jones was one of the first students to zip out into the hallway. He kept forth, making exceptions for a few people. He hadn't ran this fast to class since freshman year.

He strode into the classroom and quirked a brow. Arthur wasn't there yet. Alfred shrugged it off and went to his seat, hoping that he would come in shortly. As he waited, he tore out a piece of paper and doodled sweet nothings.

 _Remember when you hit the brakes too soon? Twenty stitches in the hospital room. When you started cryin', baby I did too._

Alfred pursed his lips on the pencil eraser, and etched some more lyrics.

 _You look like my next mistake, but I've got a blank space, baby. And I'll write your name._

The God golden teen bounced his pencil on the desk, and wished he had the ability to draw anything half decent. Writing song lyrics that fit his mood would have to settle until otherwise.

One last person stumbled into the classroom as the late bell rang. To his surprise, Arthur took his seat next to Alfred. Curiosity kicked in: why was he later than usual?

"Oh, hey, Arthur!" Al greeted. The Brit executed a short wave and a slight smile. "Why were ya late today? Traffic?"

Kirkland unexpectedly snatched Alfred's pencil and paper, and wrote: _I tripped._

Alfred read it, and questioned, "Over what?"

He kept the American's belongings. _My shoes. They're a little big._

Before he slid the note to the athlete, Arthur eyed the paper a little longer and cocked his head. He circled the song lyrics and littered them in an abundance of question marks.

"Oh, it-it's just something I like to do," Alfred clarified with a red face. "Since I don't have any real talents, like drawing or writing. So I just write song lyrics when I get bored."

The other blond bobbed his head in understanding, and added: _I can't do anything special, either._

"Really?" he asked, taken aback. "You seem like you can draw, no?"

He shook his head, and Alfred muttered, "Oh, okay." Realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he asked, "Gosh, I'm so rude! Are you okay? From when you fell?"

Arthur's face tinted pink, and he hid his face to write. _Yes, thank you. No one ever asks me that._

"What do you mean?"

He took his time again. _Nobody bothers with me._

"Wow, isn't that kinda—"

"Jones! Kirkland!" the instructor screeched, which frightened Arthur. "Why are you talking!"

"'Cause we're human?" Alfred sarcastically suggested. The other blond snorted, but the old lady was not pleased. "Just like you, if I'm not mistaken? Or are you some form of undetected extraterrestrial?"

The Englishman hid his face completely behind his hands, but the edges of his smile were a sharp as a razor. The teacher scoffed, "Maybe I should move you like I should've the first time, right?"

Alfred shook his head like a dog, and pleaded, "No! Don't move us!"

"Sorry, boys," she sounded anything but sympathetic. "Arthur, sit at the other end of the row. You stay where you're at, Alfred."

Arthur hesitantly gathered his things, his pencil carried between his teeth as he stalked over to the other end of the row of desks. Alfred held the side of his face in his palm as he observed the boy walk away.

"Okay, putting minor distractions aside," the old bat continued. "Let's start the lesson, shall we?"

Jones considered himself done for the day as soon as she said this, but the seriousness of his grades were brought to his attention. He pulled out another piece of paper to start taking notes, but he noticed the absence of his pencil.

"What the fuck…?" he mumbled under his breath as surveyed the floor. Alfred gave up and just grabbed a new one.

Throughout class, he kept getting lost during the lesson, as he stole occasional glances at Arthur. He noticed his two-sizes-too-large black Converse high-tops and his oversized sweater. Blondie squinted at the design on his top every time he turned his head, but it was still unknown.

When he eventually lost all interest in class effort, Alfred retrieved another blank piece paper. He scribbled on that instead of the assignment.

 _You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye._

He tried his best at font, or making his handwriting a little more legible, but rejected the practice. Al darted his oceanic eyes at Arthur, at what felt like miles away. He analyzed how fragile and delicate the shy boy was. His skin was as pale as alabaster, defining almost all of the characteristics of a porcelain doll.

The more Alfred thought about it, the more he began believing it. Arthur had the big, pigmented glass eyes and charming outfits. He was petite and ambrosial, as if he wasn't even real. His muteness, sadly, made him exactly like a doll. Lovely and silently charismatic as a breakable antique.

Just thinking about it, the American couldn't get enough. He fabricated a scenario where Arthur would be his sweet little plaything. To dress him up, have him do anything he wanted, and Alfred doing every little thing to get his attention. To pose him as he pleased. He then tried to think of what he wouldn't give to share at least a single night with the angel sitting at the end of the row. Or to show his affections and get them back in full.

"Alfred!" the woman in the old lady blouse caught his attention. Alfred jerked his head and mumbled incoherently. "Did you even hear the question?"

He shook his head, and half the class snickered at him. The teacher posed her hands on her once child bearing hips. "What were you doing instead of paying attention?"

Alfred's mind flashed him an image of Arthur smiling, wearing nothing but his oversized football jersey, with "Jones" distinctly on his back. Leaning on his kitchen counter, the top lifted, and revealed his imaginary virgin skin.

"Nothing."

"That's what I thought. _So_ , why don't you tell me what I just said?"

" _So_ , weren't you the one that said I wasn't paying attention?" he snapped back. Alfred became startled by his own sarcastic ways and it's overwhelming power. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur smirking with a hand clasped over his mouth.

"What is so humorous, Mr. Kirkland?" she scolded. "Do I have to send one of you to detention because, trust me, I _will_."

They declined the invitation, and their instructor said further, "That's your last warning, you two. I mean it."

She returned to the lesson, and Alfred to his daydreaming. He wondered how it would sound if that darling's name was Mr. Arthur Jones.

 _Yes, Mr. Arthur Jones? Good morning, Mr. Arthur Jones. How did you sleep?_

God, it sounded so lovely.

* * *

"Jones! Park it over here!"

Alfred turned around and grinned as he made his way over to the round lunch table. He waved, "Sup, guys!"

"Hey, sit with us!" a light haired German, Gilbert Beilschmidt, demanded. His eyes were as red as burning coals, ones that could stare right through your bullshit.

Al did as he was told, and he checked out everyone else sitting with him. The German was sitting with his arm around a brown haired, green eyed girl, Elizabeth Hedervary. Beside them, there was one other person, an openly bisexual French student, Francis Bonnefoy. Alfred felt oddly connected to the sleazy blond, despite that they were only casual friends.

He had liked primarily boys all throughout his life, but kept it a secret. To have a person who somewhat shared these feelings was calming. He looked over the albino and his girlfriend; he was happy for them, definitely. He just didn't understand how he could be attracted to her. Someone attractive, now, was someone who was sweet and beautiful. Like Arthur.

"Hey, so have you guys seen that new kid?" the white haired student brought up.

"I think he's from Britain, or something like that," Francis was buffing his fingernails on the inside of his thumb.

"Oh, yeah! He's in my English class!" Alfred immediately knew who they were talking about. "His name's Arthur."

"Arthur Kirkland?" the girl suggested. He nodded. She covered her bottom lip, "Oh! I know who you're talking about! I heard that he's crazy!"

"Well, _I_ heard he's a serial killer," Francis didn't even glance up at the rest of them. "Or, at least, he likes to chop off people's fingers on the weekends."

Gilbert pointed, and they nodded, "Yeah, I heard that one, too."

Alfred couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could anyone think someone as passive and adorable as Arthur was a freak of nature? "Aw, c'mon guys!" he tried to lighten their judgement. "He's not bad!"

"How do you know? Have you talked to him?" Francis asked.

Alfred nodded, "Yeah, he's a pretty nice guy."

"How can you talk to someone who can't say anything back?" he challenged.

The American stuttered, "How do you know about that?"

"Everybody knows it by now!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "He hasn't said a single word since school started!"

"I wonder how long he's been mute for," Francis added, monotone.

"W-Wait, how do you even now he's m-mute?" Al inquired, he could feel the sweat on his body beading.

Gilbert laughed, "Come on, Alfie! No one's that thick! Not even you!"

Everyone chuckled, and Elizabeth asked, "Not to be mean, but how could you _not_ think that?"

Alfred loosened his crew neck collar, "Yeah, I mean. Of course I knew somethin' was up with him."

"It has to be something serious for him to choose not to speak," the French boy theorized. "Or maybe, he was born with it. Regardless, the whole situation feels... off."

"Forget that!" Gilbert dissed. He faced the shiny blond, "How did you even talk to him? Do you know sign language?"

"No, we just pass notes," he explained.

"Isn't that a little elementary?" the red eyed rebel knitted his brow.

"No, not if he can't talk."

The members of the clique shrugged it off. Francis' face lightened and he wrenched his neck to scan the cafeteria. "If he's in your English class, Alfred, shouldn't he be in here with us?"

"Oh, I guess you're right," the jock adjusted his rectangular framed spectacles, and took a look around. "Do you any of you guys see him around here?"

A collection of negative muffles sounded, and Alfred scoffed, "Whatever. Maybe he's eating somewhere else."

"Wait, do you actually like him?" Francis asked. Alfred's heart skipped a beat, confused at which 'like' he meant.

"Uh, I mean, he's a pretty good friend," he covered up his shading blush. "I-If you could even call it friendship yet."

Gilbert's jaw hit the table, "Wait, you're cool with him? Do you know if he is a psychopath or not?"

The athlete defended, "No, of course he isn't!"

"A sociopath?" Francis recommended. Alfred grunted in denial. "But I've seen him walking in the hallways a few times, and he seems so…"

"Empty? Indifferent?" Elizabeth admitted.

"Yeah. Just a blank expression that was void of all feeling."

Alfred rolled his eyes, "You're overreacting! He's a perfectly normal dude!"

"Well, you haven't actually _talked_ , so how do you know?" Elizabeth theorized. "I mean, he can write one thing, and mean another, right?"

"He's just misunderstood, I swear he's alright upstairs!"

"I don't think he's able to _have_ feelings," Gilbert childishly put. He snapped his fingers and said sharply, "He's probably going to end up becoming a maniac by graduation, if he hasn't already."

"Guys!" Alfred threw his hands on the table. "He's _not_ like that! Knock it off!"

"Then what's he like?" Francis raised a brow.

His crystal blue irises dashed around the table. "I-I don't really know what he's like. But I'm, like, a hundred percent sure he isn't some kind of weirdo!"

"Say what you will, Alfred. I'm pretty convinced he's hiding something," Gilbert appeared determined, something rare for the foreign student.

"Something potentially dangerous," the angelic haired blond exaggerated. "He probably has a dark secret, or something of the sort."

Alfred puffed his cheeks, "Well, unlike the rest of you, I'm gonna give him a chance. He's not gonna have any friends if people keep judging him like that."

"Just saying," Gilbert shrugged off. "You've heard stories about kids who get bullied and then blow up half of their school, right?"

Elizabeth snapped her fingers, "I know what you're talking about! It, um, began with a 'c'."

"Columbine?" Francis mentioned.

The couple nodded, and Al sighed, "That's not what happened at Columbine."

"Sure it did!" Elizabeth said carelessly. "The point is, he might be one of those students who will shoot up the whole damn school!"

Gilbert assumed, whilst everyone shrugged along afterwards, "He just seems like that kind of person."

Unexpectedly, another teenager took a spot next to Alfred, and wrung her arms around his neck. Her curly pigtails whipped him in the face, and she smiled, "Hey, bro."

He brought his arms up to hers, and greeted likewise, "Hey, sis."

Madeline sat properly and glanced at everybody present. Her violet eyes halted at the albino. She smirked, "Hey, loser."

"Hey yourself," Gilbert scoffed. "You can't sit with us."

The blonde looked up at her brother, "So, Alfie."

"So, Maddie," he rustled within his backpack and began eating his lunch: Starbucks coffee in a can.

"Have you found any girls you like?" she asked. "I mean, if that _loser_ can get someone as nice as Liz, I'm sure you can do even better!"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Elizabeth leaned inward with an evil smirk on her lips.

Madeline grinned, "I'm just saying that there are plenty of fish in the sea, so there are a lot more for Alfie to pick from."

They giggled like the pair of middle school girls they were deep inside, Alfred respired.

"But you should really start looking for a girly-friend, you know?" her pitch was soft and childlike, but her expression was devious.

He shot his eyes at her, as if he were saying don't-bring-this-up-here kind of gesture. Madeline was the only person who knew of Alfred's true sexuality, he could clearly recall the night.

They were hanging out in Maddie's bedroom, and Al was listening to her rant about boys, as usual. When she mentioned a certain teenager, in response, he commented that he was attractive. Without thinking, he had accidentally revealed his long kept secret. To his surprise, his sister displayed her acceptance by continuing her doting. Madeline was the only person he could talk about guys with, not even their parents knew. So naturally, she tried anything to pick on him in public. Especially around his straight friends.

Maddie leaned on her sibling and crossed her arms, her neck angled to look him in the eye. "Who're you going to take to Homecoming, then?"

He cut his eyes, "I'm not going."

"What!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "But Gillie and I are going! You should totally get a girl and come!"

"Yeah, man," he looked hopefully up at him. "Don't leave me hanging."

"Look, I know I'm on the football team and everything, but I'm not going."

"But come on!" Madeline swatted his arm. "Maybe you'll even get lucky afterwards, you know?"

They stared at each other intensely, as if they were telepathically sending and receiving messages. The one Alfred got said, "we'll talk about this later", and he was satisfied with that.

"Okay then," she patted his shoulder and pushed herself up. "I'm gonna get to the library, I've got work to do."

"Later, slut!" Lizzy kidded. "See ya in fourth period!"

Maddie turned around and winked, "Bye, bitch."

Alfred felt uncomfortable whenever his sister cursed, since she seemed so innocent and caring. Definitely not the cussing type.

"So, _are_ you going to Homecoming?" Francis spoke up after his prolonged silence.

"I dunno," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, it's not for a couple more months."

"Yeah, but something might happen in those short months," Elizabeth pointed out. "Maybe you'll find the right person."

Alfred like how she used 'person' instead of 'girl'. The thought of Arthur Kirkland flashed by him, and he smiled. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

* * *

The tanned athlete walked through his front door. He dumped his school things off on the living room sofa, and raided the refrigerator. Madeline must have heard him, as she nearly snapped her neck running down the staircase. Her socks were slipping against the tile of the kitchen floor as she frantically glided up to her brother.

"Alfie! You're home!" she stated the obvious, clinging to his arm. He nodded, and she caught her breath. "So, who's the lucky guy?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he disregarded, and turned away from the fridge.

She followed, "Oh, come on! I know that face!"

"What face? I'm not making a face!" he denied as he started up the stairwell.

His sister followed him into his bedroom, and sat on his bed before he could get the chance. She smirked, "Who is it?"

Alfred sighed, he looked to the floor and grinned, "Arthur Kirkland."

"The new kid?" she cocked her head. "I guess I see where you're coming from. He's kinda cute."

"Kinda! He's adorable!" He held the side of his face in his palm. "He's been the only thing I can think of! I was practically planning our wedding in math class today!"

"Wow, you're totally infatuated with him, huh?" she overlapped her legs. "When did you start liking him?"

"First day back. It was like love at first sight!" he plopped down next to her, one of his arms resting on her lap. "I've never felt anything like this before! Do you think he likes me back?"

"Whoa! Have you even talked to him?" Maddie exasperated.

"Uh, that's kinda a problem," Al explained. "He doesn't talk. Like, at all. The way I've been communicating with him is by passing notes."

Madeline lifted a brow, "So you're telling me that he really _is_ mute?"

He clenched his fists and tucked his feet underneath his knees, "Wait, so even _you_ know?"

"Well, sure," she gestured her hand and crimson painted fingernails. "Everybody's been talking about him. He's a mute."

Alfred was astonished. Arthur had not told him specifically what was wrong with him, but the whole student body could. God, he hated how stupid he could be sometimes.

"H-How does everyone know?" he looked up at her.

"You know how wild some rumors can get. But I heard some kid dug through his records and it said he had selective mutism, or something like that. But I doubt it's true."

At least he knew he was right, but who would even go to such drastic measures? Was someone _that_ desperate to know if they were right, or to start a nasty rumor? "Oh."

She widened her iris colored eyes, "But people are also saying that he's a maniac."

He sighed, "Yeah, I've heard _that_ one more than a few times before."

"I don't know what I really think of him. Not sure if he's insane or just weird."

"Gee, _that_ makes me feel better," Al huffed and clenched his fists. She giggled, and he asked desperately, "C'mon, Maddie! I need your help!"

"How bad do you want it?" she dangled the offer in his face.

With a flat expression, he inquired, "What do you want from me?"

The blonde reasoned, "I just want some information, that's all."

"About?"

She pursed her lips and inspected her fingernails. "How serious are you about this Kirkland boy?"

"Very very!" He sat up and pleaded, "You don't know how bad I want him!"

"Tell me how bad," she wouldn't budge. Damn, she enjoyed torturing him too much.

"C'mon, Mad! I can't let him get away! He means so much to me!"

Madeline sighed, and asked, "What am I working with, here? How far have you gotten with him?"

"Uh, not very far," the last few weeks played back. "We've been talking, but I still don't have his number."

She made and 'o' with her ruby red lips, "That's not a good sign."

"What?" Alfred tilted his head. Maddie smacked him in the bicep.

"Quit pussy footing around and ask for his number!" she cursed, he flinched. "He won't know your true intentions unless you ask for his digits!"

"Then maybe he'll get the idea that I like him?"

She nodded, "Bingo. Now, have you tried flirting with him yet?"

"Uh," Al attempted to flash back. "I told him that I'm gonna take him for a ride in Eleanor someday, though it was kinda a joke. Does that count?"

Madeline's black eyelashes met as she puffed her rosy cheeks with air. "Oh my God! That's pretty cute!"

"See? I totally know what I'm doin'," Alfred added unsure of himself. His sister calmed down from her fit and furthered interrogation.

"Does he like cars? Has he seen Elle yet? Do you think he would like a ride in her?"

"I, uh." Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. How do I even bring that up?"

She pondered for a moment, "Does he ride the bus? If so, you should catch him before he boards and offer a ride. Just make sure you wash her before you take her to school that day."

Al sprung up to give her a quick hug, "Thanks, sis! I don't know what I'd do without ya!"

"Yeah, you'd be totally lost!"

* * *

 _Hurry up and ring the damn bell already._

Alfred bounced his leg up and down, the heel of his solid black Vans tapping with the tile. He stalked the clock like it was an underage girl, and wished he could move the slow ticking hands as he pleased.

The fourth period bell rang eventually, and Alfred was the first student to run out the door. He damn near jogged the hallways to get to class, not even bothering to stop and say hello to friends and acquaintances. All that was on his mind was the English boy.

"Jones!" he overheard Ivan call. Alfred stopped at the command and waited for the Russian and his Chinese wingman to catch up. "Where the hell were you last night?"

"At home…?"

Yao snapped his jaw open, "The football meeting…?"

The realization pelted him like an abundance of stones. "Oh shit! I'm so sorry! I totally forgot!"

"Whatever, it's cool," Ivan pushed aside. "But you would be in pretty deep shit if it weren't for us. We told coach that you were sick and went home."

"Thanks, guys! I'll make sure I get there next time!"

Yao gave him the lingering stink eye, "Which is…?"

"Um," Al failed to recall. "Next week?"

"Today," the commie filled in. "After school."

Another confliction in the American's otherwise genius plan. "Um, yeah. I don't know if I—"

"What the hell! Are you blowing us off!" Yao seemed like he could hardly contain his anger in his little body.

"No, I …" he struggled to search for another lie, "… promised I would take Madeline to a friends house after school! And that's the only reason I drove Eleanor today!"

The other athletes exchanged glances and shrugged. Were they on to him?

"Eh, do whatever," Braginski said. "But you better start showing up to practice from now on. Yao and I can't keeping covering your hind ass from coach forever."

Alfred felt filled to the brim with glee. "Thanks guys! And I'll start showing up to practice! Promise!"

They disbanded, and Goldilocks realized he was going to be tardy, as the late bell rang in confirmation. Cursing under his breath, He stalked off to class with every intention on sitting by Kirkland this period.

"Mr. Jones," the bitch from Hell scolded from her teacher's desk. "Why are you late?"

"Uh, erm. I was," Alfred strained for the right lie. His response was faster than the crack of a whip, "Bathroom."

She shook her head, "Whatever. Just sit down."

Yet, when the jock went to take his seat, he was face to face with a choppy haired, oriental student occupying his desk. He turned back to the instructor.

"Oh, I forgot about him," she admitted. "Just take the empty seat by Arthur. And _no_ talking."

The old hag had begun the lesson as Alfred greeted his new friend. "Hey, I'm back. Miss me?"

Arthur smiled, the corners of his lush field eyes wrinkled. "So, I wanted to ask ya somethin'."

He bobbed his head, and the boy with the cowlick proceeded, "Well, you remember when I said I'd take you for a ride in Eleanor?"

He nodded. "Well, I brought her today. So maybe, if you still want to, I could drive you home." Alfred wasn't sure why he enjoyed observing Arthur light up with excitement, it was as strange as lighting up a Christmas tree in July. "So I take that as a yes?" he smirked haughtily. The student nearly snapped his neck nodding, and Alfred grinned. "But it's gonna cost ya."

He quirked his perfectly thick brows, and he explained, "Your digits for the ride of your life in a Chevy. Deal?"

His lips stretched to the apples of his cheeks as he pulled out a piece of paper, and snatched Alfred's pencil.

 _867-5309_

He squinted at the paper, and back at Arthur, whose smirk was smitten. "Nice try. You know what I mean."

He, with a hand over his mouth the entire time, wrote his actual number for the jock. He marveled over the handwriting, then at the teen who provided it, and gave his own number. It was like he couldn't control himself, as Alfred reached a hand over and ruffled the hair on top of Arthur's head to display his gratitude.

"Thanks, Arthur!" he gave a toothy smile.

Christ, his hair was so soft, like he was literally growing silk from his scalp. It felt nice. Though, it would be even nicer if he woke up to that softness lying on his bare chest, rays of sunlight highlighting all the best features of his body: every inch of it.

Alfred was yanked from his fantasy world as the teacher screeched at the class. He botched for something to write with, having to resort to a brand new pencil. Damn, he was running out of them like crazy.

* * *

The golden haired teen ran around the hallways like a chicken with its head cut off, looking for Arthur. It might've been smarter if he had asked what his last class was.

 _"Goddammit, I'm so stupid,"_ Alfred mumbled under his breath, his feet shuffling at the speed of nonstop.

He pulled out his mobile as he rounded the corner and, as if it was a scene out of a shitty romantic comedy, he accidentally ran into Arthur. Literally _trampled_ him. The fragile adolescent nearly toppled over from the impact, but found balance on the platform of his large sneakers.

Al apologized and spoke with his hands, "I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Arthur shook his head like a dog, and Alfred beamed, "Well, that's good, I'm glad. Well, you ready to meet Eleanor?"

He agreed, and the pair left for the school car park. They stepped towards the red Chevrolet, Alfred could feel Arthur's smile without having to turn his head. "This is my girl, Elle," he introduced. The English one quickly retreated to his phone, and Al received a new message.

 _She's very pretty._

"Why, thank you, Kirkland!" he praised. He placed a brawny hand on the top of his hair, he couldn't help himself. Now that he had a feel for the boy's Heavenly locks, he couldn't stop himself from touching it as much as he could.

Alfred rushed to the passenger side of the vehicle and offered the door, "Care for a ride?"

Arthur took the seat, and the driver started the ignition. The way Eleanor purred, then roared, made him feel like he hadn't a care in the world. All of his worries would be left behind him like the poorly paved back roads he drove upon. Arthur stretched his hands all over the dashboard and glovebox, his top teeth shone like the full moon.

"Yeah, isn't she a beaut?" Alfie made small talk as he backed the Impala out of the parking spot. The other blond nodded. "Do you know why her name's Eleanor?"

Arthur shook his head. "Me and my old man share a love for the former First Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt. But you're from England. Do you know who she is?" He denied it. "Well, she was an activist in the Civil Rights movement, for African Americans to have to same rights as everyone else." Arthur nodded in comprehension.

"And during World War II, she created concern on the homefront with the Office of Civilian Defense. And she also visited the troops often, reading to them or talking to them for comfort.

"She was a great woman. She accomplished so many things, despite that she was ill. Did you know Eleanor had depression? And she still managed to make history. It's amazing!"

Kirkland leaned back in his seat and stared at the road instead of him. Before, it was a book. Now he was jealous of whatever Arthur was looking at, if it could be put in particular. Jealous because he wasn't who the little lovely wanted to gaze at.

As the ride continued, Alfred caught eye of Arthur wearing his Cheshire Cat smile for the hundredth time. He thought of what he would be doing if he hadn't noticed the Brit, or bothered to get to him. Granted, he had a lot more work to do until he would finally see Arthur for what he was, but the idea left him astounded.

"So, where do I drop you off?" Alfred asked. Arthur was texting, and cowlick read it at the next stop sign.

 _Just down this road, take a right._

He did, and the doll baby pointed out which house was his. Alfred parked Eleanor behind a tan car which he deduced to be Arthur's.

"So, was she everything you wanted her to be?" he joked, the other smiled. Arthur mimicked, and waved goodbye. He watched him walk into his house, his galaxy backpack bounced with every step on the concrete staircase.

Alfred stayed a little longer to ensure the boy got inside his house safely, but all he wanted was to watch. Observing Arthur Kirkland was like entering a different world, if it could be classified as that. It felt more like walking across the Milky Way, trekking through the constellations, a spacey feeling overcoming the prep. He wondered if the feeling would intensify if he got closer.

* * *

The beach boy pulled out his laptop and plopped on his bed, the Captain America sheets and blankets flying up. He typed in "Tumblr", and hit enter.

"Well, I might as well make an account," Alfred reasoned. He filled out all of the requirements, and made sure he did not include his real name anywhere.

Once he was on the homepage, he keyed in the search bar, "Arthur Kirkland". Nothing came up.

"Maybe he's using an alias, like me," he evaluated. He pondered upon what the English boy would tag. He searched, "London, England".

Many pictures and text posts came up, but as he scrolled past them, he stumbled upon a photo of Arthur in front of the Big Ben tower. A ping of excitement went through him as he moused over the blog URL.

He selected it and, all sorts of images and posts pertaining to the dusty blond popped up, too coincidental to ignore. He tapped a photograph of Arthur wearing a sweater that slung over one shoulder, his knuckles were fanned over his smile. Alfred clicked the like button.

The next selfie he came across was of him stretching his upper lip over his top teeth in which were not normal. He was wearing a pair of false vampire fangs, and his tongue was sticking out, a classier Miley Cyrus style. Though, there was something shiny glinting from his appendage.

One of the tags read, "scoop piercing". Goldilocks quickly opened a new tab to research the body modification and, as Arthur had said, it was definitely a scoop piercing.

"Holy shit, that's hot," Alfred whispered breathily. He imagined how it would feel if that piercing ran across his teeth, or anyplace the other bond wanted to taste on his body. That would be the ultimate nirvana.

He dove even further into his blog and came across another unforgettable picture. Arthur was wearing an extra-large sweater, as usual, and circular framed sunglasses. He had a cigar dangling between his lips and his fingers in a peace sign.

"Well, that's…" Alfie glanced around his bedroom. "Cute."

Jones kept forth with his research and found another photo he liked. It was a couple pictures of Arthur boarding on some weird, small skateboard. To tell the truth, Alfred didn't know shit about skateboarding. He thought it was the one type of skateboard, but apparently, according to an abundance of other posts, there was more to the sport.

He felt like he knew everything there was to know about Kirkland, but realized how complex he and his personality really were. Alfred had only begun to scratch the surface. It was tedious, but he knew in the long run, it would be worth it.

Alfred read a recent text post from the angel. It said: My new school is pretty shitty. I miss London :(

He scoured for another one: There's this popular kid that started talking to me for some reason. He's really friendly and treats me nice. I don't think I can trust him.

His heart sank more tragically than the Titanic. There was no mistaking that Arthur was talking about him. After all the things he'd done for him; why couldn't he trust him? It put Alfred in a shitty state of mind, that maybe Arthur was really never going to love him back, but he decided to continue researching.

One text said: Why do people think it's funny to push me in the hallway? Because apparently _I_ don't.

With a hand over his heart, Alfred sniffled half seriously, "My poor baby! How could this happen? Those dirty rotten bastards!"

Another post: He gave me a ride home today in his Chevy. I think he likes me :) But I still don't know if I can trust him yet.

"What? Does he have trust issues or something?" Alfred was nearly fed up with his slow building friendship. Then it hit him like a ton of fucking rocks. "Oh… maybe he _does_."

* * *

 _AN: So this week, I was originally supposed to take a trip to Pennsylvania to see my Great-Grandmother, but she had to stay at an out-of-state hospital for a few days for her heart stent. My mom couldn't get off work, so we're staying put. I thought I had to get everything ready and posted by then, but I guess not. So, expect more updates this week, and leave me a review telling me what you think :)_


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred had barely made it through his other classes, a sluggish feeling and defiance keeping him from doing any real classwork. Yet, when that fourth period bell rang, nothing stopped him hauling ass to English class. He excitedly sat in his seat beside Arthur's and awaited upon his arrival, writing more lyrics to songs that wouldn't get out of his head.

 _I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do, about you now. And after all, you're my wonderwall._

As the English daydream walked in, Alfred instantly noticed something was wrong. He wasn't able to put his finger on it, but he was sure of his instincts. It was like a creepy sixth sense of his.

Before he sat down, Arthur placed a hand on his lower spine and leaned back, a disgruntled expression flaunted. It slightly worried the beach boy; maybe he threw his back out, or something. Something Alfred wished was caused by _his_ unholy intentions.

Alfred asked, "Hey, what's up? Is something wrong?" Arthur shook his head, but Alfred kept persistent, "Are you sure? You can tell me if there's something bothering you."

Arthur's fingers clawed at the hem of his sweater, and he reached for Alfred's pencil and paper. He wrote: _Where do you usually eat lunch?_

Perplexed, Alfred answered warily, "Uh, the cafeteria with a few of my friends. Why?"

He watched the boy pen the answer in that perfect handwriting, provided by that perfect, fragile hand. _Would your friends mind if you ate somewhere else for today?_

So many scenarios ran straight through Alfred's dirty mind, and he said, "No, they won't miss me too much. Why?"

 _No one sits by me at lunch. And I'd like to spend more time with you._

Alfred's pulse hurried, and he coughed, "Uh, really? I-I mean, yeah, I'll go with ya." The Brit smiled, and the American asked, "Is that why you don't eat in the cafeteria like everyone else?"

He took his time to reply: _I don't have any friends other than you. I usually just smoke in the bathroom to pass the time, tbh._

Alfred popped his jaw from underneath his natural bite. He placed his chin in his palm and retorted, "That explains a lot, actually."

Arthur looked like he wanted to ask a few questions but, of course, he didn't.

 _I want to get to know you better._

God, that was cute. It was all systems go for the other teen, ready for take off. He finally had permission to actually _flirt_ with the boy of his dreams. Alfred said with a distracting cough, "Um, yeah. W-When do you eat lunch?"

 _Next period. How about you?_

"Yeah, me too," he concurred. "Where do ya wanna go?"

 _I think there's an unused classroom on the second floor. I'll show you there if you don't know what I'm talking about._

He could sense his West Coast tanned skin drain to a ghostly complexion. If he had heard, more like _read_ , that correctly, then they would be alone together. That also meant that he would have Arthur all to himself, though it sounded selfish when he put it like that.

Al nodded and Arthur flashed a small smile. He savored the short lived moment for as long as it lasted. The teacher got the class' attention.

"Okay, stop the chit chat and let's start class!"

Alfred faced the front of the room, but stole a quick glance at Arthur through the corner of his lashes. He looked so peaceful as his mouth moved to a string of song lyrics, Alfred assumed. His foot tapped to a subtle beat as his eyes closed gently. Al was going to ask what song he was lip synching, but all he could fathom was observation after the boy stretched his lips to a sweet little smile.

* * *

As soon as the bell rang, Arthur flew like a rocket out of the classroom with Alfred trailing blindly behind. He kept a close proximity as best as he could, possibilities and daydreams revived his wild side. He would have Arthur all to himself, and no one would come to find them. So if no one would come searching for them, then that also meant that Alfred could do anything he wanted to him. No one would even know, much less hear, if anything happened. He just wished that there would be a time in their relationship where Arthur would be okay with that.

Jones' head was pulled from the clouds when he felt a yank on his wrist, an array of fingers tightening. His muscular body was pulled off to the side by the weaker teen, and was slammed to a wall behind the corridor.

Alfred sent a worried glance Arthur's way; all he did was raise a finger to his perched lips, then pointed to look behind him. The athlete peeked his head around the corner and saw his friends Yao and Ivan trekking down the halls like the assholes they always acted like. What was that supposed to mean? Did Arthur know by now?

"Oh, what about 'em?" he whipped his head back and came face to face with , as he was leaning his spine back. Alfred immediately returned the stolen personal space to the English boy, and blushed, "Uh, sorry."

Arthur's lips parted as he gaped up at Alfred's astounding stature, the difference being grand. The student only came to about his breast, which was not a euphemism for anything. Arthur turned his heel and started their journey again, without holding onto him, much to Alfred's dismay.

The crowds thinned out as time ticked on and the further they ventured. The pale blond stopped by a door, and peered into the window with the prep waiting patiently. He bobbed his chin and clawed the metal knob. The door was thrown open as the pair entered respectively.

Alfred gawked around the old classroom outfitted in its green chalkboard and outdated furniture. He eventually noticed Arthur taking a seat upon a desk in the front row, and he ran to the one adjacent to him.

"This place is so cool!" he marvels. "It's like, so old in here! Even the windows are creepy!"

Alfred raced to the creaky windowsill and peered down on the school grounds through the glass aged yellow over time of negligence. He observed a few of his friends and acquaintances mingling with the other students, Ivan's hand had brushed through Madeline's left pigtail, and she stormed off. Alfred gritted his teeth, that bastard was going to learn either the easy way or the hard way. Then, what the jock didn't expect, was that the mute was going to join him in people watching.

Arthur's fragile hands planted themselves on the windowsill comfortably near his own. His beautiful emerald jewels scanned the courtyard, a small smile graced his lips. Alfred took a moment to absorb the adorable, he couldn't get enough of looking at him.

Arthur's smile flashed to a devious smirk for a split second before he was suddenly lurching into the window frame. He used only his fingertips to cling to the frame and side jamb, standing up to the glass without anything to fall back on.

"Arthur, what the hell are you doing!" Alfred jerked his head back. He bit his lip as he tried to maneuver around the limited space the sill provided. "Get down from there! You're gonna hurt yourself!"

Jones wanted to lend a helping hand, but ended up going after the Brit rescue mission style. He approached the punk from the side and wrapped his arms around his midsection, Arthur responded with arms loosely around his neck. He slowly released him back to the tile and, although Arthur already turned around for his bag, he could not move. Alfred F. Jones had touched the guy of his dreams in a not–so–friendzone kind of way, if he could put it like that.

So many things came crashing into him, and they froze Alfred right where he was standing. He had wanted to know how it felt to hold the other blond, and he got his wish. Arthur was so lightweight, even more than he first appeared. Not to mention how close their faces almost met. Alfred was able to get a glimpse of his imperfections which were attractive, contrary to the term.

Though most of his overgrown bangs were covering his eyes, the sportsman caught a scar trailing down his cheekbone from the outer corner of his eye. Other than that, he had no other marks. His complexion was as white and pure as snow, which made the injury the only thing to stand out other than his eyes.

Alfred floated back down from space as he noticed Arthur awkwardly staring at a glass bottle between his knees, his feet kicking as quietly as the rest of his presence. The sunkissed teen returned to his seat next to the boy.

He motioned his hand in gesture, "Oh, do you want me to open that for you?"

Arthur shook his head, but kept staring at it. Alfred felt compelled to stare, as well. "Then, what's wrong?"

He turned to his rucksack and fished for pencil and paper. Making room on the desk space between them, he asked: _It's nothing. I was just spacing out._

Alfred, honestly, felt a little offended when he read it, though he didn't know why. He knitted his brow, "Uh, okay?"

Kirkland nodded, as if to say, "okay". Arthur's fingers fumbled with the lid to a Snapple iced tea bottle.

The Englishman exerted his right hand to remove the lid, but he revealed a little more than what he was going for. Alfred's eyes lit up as he was able to clearly see Arthur's right hand for the first time. At last, he was able to read what was driving the jock crazy about the mysterious tattoo.

Alfred cocked his head, "'Lost'...?"

Arthur looked down at his mistake and snatched his limb back, shaking his head like a dog. The boy looked genuinely afraid of something, the inevitable? Alfred sure as Hell didn't know.

He searched for the he was writing on for their session. _Please don't tell anyone!_

Jones was slightly taken aback, but intrigued, nonetheless. "Why not? It's just a tattoo, right?"

He must've caught on to Alfred's method as he screwed up his face, but there was a certain peace about it. He thought Arthur was kind of hot when he was angry.

 _I'm begging you. Please don't say anything._

"Eh," he shrugged, worrying Arthur. "Fine. But on one condition."

Kirkland tilted his head, and Alfred demanded with a haughty smirk, "Give me your hand."

He sacrificed his limb for Goldilocks' amusement. Al couldn't fathom his predicament. He, Alfred F. Jones, was _technically_ holding Arthur Kirkland's hand. It was so silky; it was as if he was conceived under a clear midnight sky, underneath the softest satin sheets. And his being was forever a reminder of the night.

His fingertips brushed against the top of his skin, where the lettering was etched. Just like he hypothesized, the boy had 'lost' tattooed in four shaky letters. "This is really cool! Why are you trying to hide it?"

Arthur stared blankly at Alfred as he gawked at his ink. The American realized he was in control of his limb, so he released it.

 _It's my first and it's really old._

"Whoa, how old were you? Did your friends do it?" He bombarded him with his questioning. Arthur shook his head.

 _I was 14 and I did it myself._

He lifted his eyebrows, "Wow! Did it hurt? How did you do it?"

 _I took a tattooing gun from one of my father's friends and did it in the bathroom._

"Whoa, that sounds so badass," Alfred praised. "I want a tattoo someday, but I don't what I'm gonna get."

Arthur wrote with a certain unknown passion. _Just make sure it's something you definitely want. You shouldn't ever regret a tattoo, unlike me._

"Ugh, that's what all the _old_ _people_ say!" he whined. Arthur cut his eyes at the remark. "I'm just not sure what kind I should get."

Kirkland suggested: _Why not something simple? How many tattoos do you plan to get?_

"Um," he gave it enough thought. "Nothin' too much. Maybe small ones, or somethin'."

 _Maybe you and your girlfriend could get matching tattoos. Would that mean something to you?_

Alfred almost choked over his own saliva. This guy he had obliviously been flirting with for the past couple weeks thought that he had someone else. Had he lost his Goddamn mind?

"Ah, I mean, it _would_. But I… don't have a girlfriend," Al corrected, folding his hands. Arthur angled his head up at him.

 _I am very sorry. You're such a nice person, and all. I was blindly assuming._

"It-It's okay. I know why I'm single," he swung his feet and looked at the chalkboard ahead. "It's complicated."

Arthur jutted his chin and mimicked Alfred's position. A moment of silence passed before the golden skinned teen spoke up.

"I may be popular, but not a lot of people understand that I have problems, too." He folded his hands in his lap and turned to the mute. "Do you know what I mean?"

Alfred realized he said the wrong thing as Arthur knitted his large brow, and emitted a glare intimidating enough to shoot through a couple of brick walls. Al sat up and brushed off his varsity jacket for background noise.

"Uh, um. Pretend I didn't say anything!"

Arthur sighed and Alfred looked around desperately for a distraction. He jumped up the board and grabbed a stubby piece of chalk, and began doodling. He turned back, "Hey, hold still, Arthur! I'm gonna try to draw ya!"

The American started drawing a poor representation of the English boy, but he did try his best on his face. Alfred stepped back with his arms extravagantly raised to display his work.

"It's done! Looks just like you!" he exclaimed. Arthur slowly approached the drawing and looked up with a frown. Alfred pinned his hands on his hips. "What's that look for? This is one of my best drawings, I'll have you know!"

Kirkland picked up a considerable length of chalk and wrote: _If I really looked like that, we'd both be in trouble._

Alfred kept the playfulness in the atmosphere, "C'mon! It's a work of art! You could practically hang it in a museum!"

Arthur dotted the tip of the chalk on the board with every intention of writing, but cracked a smile and hung his head to hide it. Alfred laughed, "See? You can't disagree with me!"

 _I suppose it sort of resembles me, but not exactly._

Alfie screwed his face and said in a snotty tone, "What are you talking about? It looks just like you, Mr. Kirkland. And also, I take that as an insult towards my artistic ability."

Trying to hold back a smile or a giggle the entire time, the Brit wrote ironically: _The person in the picture is smiling. That's the difference._

He stared with indifference stained on his expression and hands at his sides. "You smile, like, literally every time I say something!"

Arthur faced the other way and raised a hand to his mouth mid process. Alfred pointed, "See! You're a lyin' shit, you are!"

 _You know what I mean._

Alfred leaned his head to the side and said, "No, let's say I _don't_ know what you mean."

The most displeased expression was fired his way. He smiled and rested his head on the chalkboard, his arms folded. He was hoping that Arthur would finally say something, but he knew his motive to be much more complicated than reluctance. He decided to stray from the topic.

"Hey, I'm gonna start callin' ya Artie," Alfred declared. "Artie" sweatered his brow and the American figured, "Artie's a lot more fun."

He faced the board and wrote: _Then I'm going to call you Ally. Fair enough?_

Alfred nearly choked on his spit at the pet name. He coughed, "Why Ally? That sounds like a girl's name!"

 _Now it's yours._

His heart fluttered like a band of butterflies from a backyard gasoline explosion. He wasn't even being called "Alfie", but something the Englishman had come up with on his own. Something that no one else would call him, and he liked the prospects of that.

"So, _Artie_ ," he stressed to wear the nickname in. Ally stuffed his hands in his letterman jacket pockets. He was going to continue, but was halted by his friend's befuddled aspect. "What's up?"

He merely pointed to his shoulder, and Alfred quickly jumped upright. He had been leaning on the chalk drawings, and the powdery substance had gotten all over his sleeve.

 _"Shit,"_ he muttered under his breath as he dusted off his coat.

Then, Alfred witnessed Arthur reaching up and emerging his fingers through his golden locks. The jock stopped what he was doing for the punk to shake the chalk out of his hair. His free hand took ahold of Alfred's other arm so he keep his balance on his toes. When he was back on his feet, he turned to the board.

 _Sorry about that. You had chalk in your hair and I didn't think you knew about it._

"Y-You're right, I didn't know!" he agreed. "Thanks, Artie!"

He grinned and closed his eyes for a moment, long enough for Alfred to take notice in what he was wearing. His sneakers were those same large Converse high tops, and his pants were long and black, as usual. His sweater was soft grey, and had a coffin design with the text inside, "It's okay to decay". Honestly, it was fitting for someone like Arthur. Not to be rude, but Alfred thought that only nervous people wore sweaters.

He looked back at his own attire, and frowned. He just had a plain white t-shirt with an old pair of carpenter jeans, and his black Vans were nothing special, either. It made him feel a bit dated, since Arthur was always so nicely dressed. He never paid attention when it came to his clothes, only in sports and academics. What he wore never mattered, until now, anyway.

It took him a while to realize Arthur was staring at him like he was covered in hickeys. He apologized, "Uh, sorry! I was spacing out!"

The blond nodded, and the lunch bell rang as loud as an overprotective Caucasian mother with her rebellious child. The pair scrambled for their things and jogged to Arthur's next class, in which Alfred hadn't noticed upon arrival. Talking to the boy was so distracting he had almost sat down in the wrong classroom.

As he found himself in fifth period, all Alfred could think of was Arthur and how he looked. He halted all class progress to write more song lyrics and to think of a plan.

 _If you marry me, would you bury me? Would you carry me to the end?_

Still nothing. He had to come up with something, anything, to win over Arthur's attention. He was so desperate, he could practically taste it.

 _So say goodbye to the vows you take, and say goodbye to the life you make. And say goodbye to the heart you break, and all the cyanide you drank._

"Everyone have this written this down? Jones?" the teacher yanked him out of his fantasy world. He nodded, though that was a lie, and the instructor proceeded in the lecture.

 _Well, if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say. I never want to let you down, or have you go, it's better off this way._

Alfred felt close to a breakthrough, though he wasn't sure what. It was like a lingering thought from earlier in the day he couldn't remember. It was annoying to know he was so close to coming up with something.

 _Forget about the dirty looks, the photographs your boyfriend took. You said you read me like a book, but the pages are all torn and frayed._

Then, like an old, flickering light bulb, he got an idea. Through writing emo song lyrics, he had formulated the perfect plan to connect to Arthur. He eyed the wall clock and was dancing at the edge of his seat. He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the "M" contacts.

 _Hey sis! What class r u in rn?_

Alfred bounced his leg up and down as he anticipated his sibling's reply. Soon, his mobile vibrated.

 _Study hall. Wdyw?!_

He panned his eyes around as much of the classroom he could without appearing suspicious.

 _Wanna go 2 the mall after school?_

The teacher turned around unexpectedly, so the athlete shoved his phone in his pocket as fast as he could. Thank God he had his stupid jacket. It was like the wingman that never complained.

 _Hell yeah! Pick me up later!_

With his sister's permission, Alfred stowed his cell away, a smirk on his face. Maddie was going to help him in his plot, and there was no way she would object.

* * *

Alfred Jones had received stares and overheard whispers as he walked the halls that day. He readjusted the chain in his back pocket and toyed with his septum jewelry with the tip of his thumb. He raspily chuckled before he walked into his fourth period English class.

As soon as he opened that door, Alfred knew that all eyes were on him. He was just hoping that at least one of those pairs were hazel. The transformed blond made his way to his seat by Arthur. From the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur's eyes widen like a cat's would at a ball of yarn. He knew his job was one well done.

He sharply reposed his black flannel top, his Jimi Hendrix shirt revealed for more reactions. Al fixed the beanie barely hanging on the back of head to show off for Arthur, who was still watching, surprisingly.

The instructor started the class lesson plan, but Alfred felt too rebellious to do anything he was told. Unless, he actually wanted to do those things, he sensed that today was one of those days he would do what he wanted.

He felt his back pocket vibrate, which was a feeling he would have to get used to. He received a new message from none other than the English boy himself.

 _Are you okay?_

He furrowed his brow and replied: _wdym? I'm fine._

 _Are you sure?_

 _Yes! What do u think is wrong w/ me?_

Arthur leaned forward and scanned his body. _You look like Hot Topic just came all over you._

 _So? Y r u txting me this? I don't want 2 get in trouble._

 _Yeah, but if we do get caught, it's not like she's going to look through our messages, much less make us read them out loud._

Alfred suddenly remembered that the entirety of the school's staff knew of his illness, so the plan made sense. He looked to him and shrugged in agreeance.

 _Why do you look so different? Where's your jacket? Don't tell me you got that piercing just for this._

Ally waited a bit before responding. _I got it done a long time ago. And I just wanted 2 mix things up. I thought it would b a nice change._

Arthur seemed to have leaned closer compared to the beginning of class as he glanced up at him.

 _If that's what you want._

Alfred sat awkwardly in his seat as his sweet Artie began classwork. He had said if it's what _he_ wanted. What did _Arthur_ want? What else was there to try? The golden haired adolescent snapped out of it and turned to his stupid hobby of writing stupid song lyrics.

 _Forever isn't for everyone. Is forever for you? As Arabella just might've tapped into your mind and soul, you can't be sure._

Alfred really needed to get a better taste in music. The same taste in music as Arthur, would be preferable. Now that he was thinking about it, that was something else he didn't know about the boy. He waited until the teacher granted the class permission to converse, he didn't need to risk losing his cell phone.

"Hey, Arthur?" he called for his attention. He looked up at him with his eyes hazed over. "What kind of music do you like?"

Arthur stole Alfred's paper to write a response, but he halted. When he got the page back, it read: _Arctic Monkeys, "Snap Out Of It", "Arabella"._

"So you know those songs?" he sounded proud. "Is that what you listen to?"

He shook his head. In writing, he answered: _I prefer classic rock, but there are some exceptions, as you can tell._

"Oh, like, what bands do you like?" Alfred attempted. He knew diddly shit about classic rock, or what was considered to be. All he could do was act like he knew what he was talking about.

 _Pink Floyd is my favorite band. I could listen to them for hours on end._

As he read it, Alfred let joy influence a small smile. Just imagine what it would be like to listen to Pink Floyd in Eleanor at midnight, and have Arthur sitting in the passenger seat. Alfred crashed back to planet Earth.

"Do you have a favorite song?" he asked. "Is it by Pink Floyd?"

Arthur nodded: _Yes, it's called, "Wish You Were Here". You should listen to it._

"Maybe I will," Alfred grinned.

He _definitely_ had intentions on listening to that song. He was going to listen to it so much until it reminded him of the English immigrant everytime he heard it. He would have heard it so many times before, that he would not help but to sing a line of the song when brought up during normal conversation. It would play over and over again in his head much due to the obscene amount of times he heard that song.

When he felt lonely, he was going to give it a play until his little heart was content. He was going to learn all the lyrics until he could recite them better than the Bible. And if he never saw the English cutie's face again, that song would bring their memories back in a crashing, suicidal wave.

Arthur's obstreperous smile derailed Alfred's train of thought. Though, when he landed his eyes on Arthur, they couldn't move. At a quick glance, he didn't notice anything wrong with him, but there was. His canine teeth were longer than normal, and Alfred flinched. He recollected himself as the other blond silently laughed, and took a deep breath.

"Jesus Christ, you almost scared the shit outta me!" Arthur smiled again. "Why are you wearing vampire fangs in school?"

He shrugged and wrote: _They're really neat, aren't they?_

"Yeah, they're pretty cool," he agreed. He leaned in, asking, "Can I see them?"

Arthur opened his mouth enough for him to see the entirety of the false teeth. "They're so freakin' awesome!"

Arthur took the paper one last time. _If you want, I can give you a pair. I have a lot of costume fangs at home._

"Really? That would be so cool! And we could wear them on the same day!"

 _Okay, I can bring a pair for you tomorrow._

"Why not today?" Alfie suggested, Arthur quirked a brow. "Yeah, I mean. I can take you home again today, and we could chill or something."

Alfred saw the fear practically glint in his eyes as he rapidly shook his head. He babbled a string of half-finished apologies as his cheeks reddened and brain fried. For fucks' sake, he knew that there was something seriously wrong with Arthur. Why would he even ask something that personal? Jesus fucking Mary, Alfred hated himself so much at times.

As class went on, it got Jones to thinking of ways to get to the other blond. His "issue", or whatever the hell was going on in that boy's head, was blocking any opportunities Alfred had to get with him. Yet, he didn't know how to get around it.

"Hey, Artie," he strategically used his nickname to get his attention. "I know it's really rude, but, how come you're mute?"

The boy looked hurt as he wrote it down. _It's because I have nothing to say._

"I think you'd have a lot to say, or at least, a thing or two," Ally reasoned. All normal social regulations snuck out the back door as he continued asking, "How long have you been mute for? Were you born with it, or…?"

 _I stopped talking only since the end of last school year._

"What made you decide that?" _It must have been something really bad to hurt you that much._

Arthur took his time with the response: _Family issues._

Alfred settled for an, "oh, okay", and went about regular conversation. He couldn't wait to get home, why was tomorrow taking forever to arrive?

* * *

 _"We're just two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl, year after year, running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here."_

Alfred rolled his head to the side, so now it was touching Arthur's. His mild warmth transferred to his own hair. The autumn air made its rounds, and stole the glow from between the two. He mumbled, "Hey, Arthur?"

The Englishman turned his head in the grass, so that the teens were examining each other closely, lying comfortably on the hard Earth.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to talk to me?" Alfred asked. Arthur shrugged. "Because I'd like to know more about you. I just thought, maybe, your voice is a good place to start."

It wasn't lying if it was the truth. In all honesty, Alfred just wanted to kiss him, to convey to him his importance in his life. That he was more than just a person, but his whole world, through the masses of the universe and back. He desired to touch Arthur, but not just his body. What did his soul feel like? Was it as soft as his hair? Or as broken as his gaze?

"Hey, Arthur," the American daydream called for his attention once again. "Out of all the things you could say right now, do you wanna know what I want to hear from you the most?"

He nodded. Alfred's brawny hand blindly sought for Arthur's fragile one, and grabbed on for dear life. "Tell me that I'm yours."

The image became distorted as a guitar solo eventually broke the last connection. Alfred sat up, momentarily blinded by his laptop screen, followed by the vocals of David Gilmour. He rubbed his eyes for clarity and glanced around his new surroundings. His Captain America sheets were tangled in a knot and his computer played the Pink Floyd song, "Wish You Were Here", on a loop.

Jones yawned, piecing together his current situation. He wasn't by Arthur's side. He wasn't holding his darling little hands. He had not confessed to him that he was the important part of his life. He sighed, a hand over his heart.

"How I wish you were here, Arthur."

* * *

 _AN: So that's the end of chapter three! I'm so happy with how much attention this story is getting (it's especially impressive for just a lingering midnight thought). I would recommend that you listen to the song, "Wish You Were Here". Not just because it's badass, but it might make the final scene a little more understandable. Leave a review telling me what you think, and I'll keep working!_


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred made sure he was especially early for English class the next day. He cut the hallways and nearly tackled the wandering freshman out of his path. When he entered the classroom, he was relieved to find Arthur in his spot, smiling with elongated canine teeth once again.

"Hey, Artie!" Jones greeted, Arthur nodded. He pulled out a spare set of vampire fangs from his backpack and presented them to the American. Ally balled his fists in excitement. "Wow, they're so cool!"

The late bell rang and their teacher began her squawking. Not being able to put in his false teeth, and to match Arthur, made Alfred itch with premeditated hesitation. He raised his hand. "May I use the restroom?"

"Fine," the instructor settled.

Al stowed the accessories in his back pocket, all the more reminding him how much he missed his letterman jacket. As secluded himself in the bathroom, he followed the instructions carefully and took all the time he needed to correctly adhere to his teeth. Once finished, Alfred strut back in the classroom, and was happy to see the English student smiling.

"Whaddya think?" the shiny blond bared his teeth. "Do I look like a real vampire?"

Arthur grinned. _Only a little bit._

"Grool," he quoted with a smirk. He changed his expression purposely, "Oh, I meant to say cool, then I started to say great."

 _Coolness._

Alfred felt filled to the brim with childish glee at the boy's recognition of his reference. It meant so much more to him than the movie itself. It meant that he and Arthur had at least one thing in common. He silently plotted for more common ground.

"So, you like vampires, I guess," he started. Arthur nodded. "Like, 'Twilight', or something?"

 _More like "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"._

"Uh, yeah. Definitely," Al shook his head. "Do you, um…"

"Alright!" the teacher shouted, which made Alfred nearly jump out of his skin. "Pull out your Poe books and flip to 'Annabel Lee'."

The class did so, and further instructions were as followed, "With your partners, I want you to read aloud the poem. You can take turns reading at each stanza."

Alfred flitted his eyes down at a shuddering Arthur and, as soon as permission was granted, comforted him. "Hey, don't worry about it! I can read it! You just listen, 'kay?"

He smiled, and so did the athlete. "Okay, here we go! Paying attention?"

The English boy nodded. Al proceeded, " _It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee; and this maiden she lived with no other thought than to love and be loved by me."_

The jock grew increasingly nervous; his breaths were irregular and he was desperate to get out of his current situation.

" _I was a child and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea, but we loved with a love that was more than love_ — _I and my Annabel Lee_ — _with a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven coveted her and me."_

As he kept reading, Alfred felt more on edge; what was Arthur thinking of him? Was he making a fool of himself yet? Was he bothering him? He took a quick glance between stanzas and was delighted to discover the immigrant cradling his cheek in his palm, looking up at him through his lovely lowered eyelids. This gave him the courage to go on.

" _The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, went envying her and me_ — _yes!_ — _that was the reason (as all men know, in this kingdom by the sea). That the wind came out of the cloud by night, chilling and killing my Annabel Lee._

" _For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee; and the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side of my darling_ — _my darling_ — _my life and my bride, in her sepulchre there by the sea_ — _in her tomb by the sounding sea."_

Jones glanced back down at Kirkland's sweet, content face. He noticed how the apples of his cheeks grew rosy, how it slowly tinted from his usual ivory shade to his blooming petals. It was quite a breathtaking sight, to say in the least. His perennial gaze was all the more confirmation that he was a budding Abraham Darby, soon to blossom to his ultimate form of beauty.

Though, Arthur Kirkland was not just any old weed that could be snatched from the sidewalk cracks; he was special, Alfred could sense that. It wasn't his soundlessness that set him apart, that was merely an ice breaker. It was the way he could stare into the American's soul and read it aloud to him like a passage from his favorite book. It was how his fingers curled on the cuff of his sweaters whenever he was confronted or nervous. It was what made the boy his own individual, something that could never be stolen like a dandelion on a summer picnic.

"S-So," Al choked on his words as he landed on what felt like the moon. "Did you hear me well enough?"

Arthur nodded, Alfred's heart skipped rope. It was like some sick series of recess games that tortured with his easy heart, and the other had absolutely no idea he was doing this to him. With the spacey sensation still anesthetizing his common sense, Al asked, "I guess we have to wait until everyone else is done, right?"

He bobbed his head once again. For shits and giggles, Alfred slammed his elbows on the desk with fingers curling onto his cheekbones, and asked in a childish manner, "Whatcha wanna talk about?"

It got a silent chuckle from Arthur, which was all he needed. "You know what I think?" Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I think that you should totally hang at my place, after school, I mean."

The dusty rose blond sent a playful glare his way and folded his arms, as if to say, "what's in it for me?" Alfred privately thanked God for the boy's animated facial expressions, otherwise he probably wouldn't have a faster way of communication.

"Yeah, why not?" he bargained. "When's a good day for you?"

Arthur fished for their loose leaf paper.

 _Who said anything about me going anywhere?_

Al shrugged, "Do you like cats? I have a cat. Will a cat seal the deal?" It was his best, not to mention only, defense.

His bright green eyes widened as he excitedly wrote: _Omg, like, an actual cat? What does it look like? I want to see it!_

"So _now_ do I have your attention?" he haughtily asked. Artie nodded. Ally pulled out his phone in secrecy from the instructor and swiped through his photo gallery until he found a picture of the feline.

"Here," he shoved the cell to the other blond. "We call him Junior, but his name's actually Jones Junior." Arthur glanced up with a "how come?" aspect. "It's because mom named him after me, since he's annoying."

The alien raised his brows in a happy manner, keeping Alfred's worries at bay. It was astounding how a certain expression from the boy could so strongly control his emotions, like a passive puppet master.

"Cool, so like," he tripped over the correct usage of words. "How about I pick you up tomorrow? I'm gonna try to slide it past my parents tonight, so they don't freak out, or nothin'."

Confusion and anxiety coveted Arthur's expression and Al asked out of concern, "What's wrong?"

He scribbled out his answer, his rushed handwriting looked almost nothing like the font the sport's player fell in love with.

 _Are you sure? Would you walk me out to the busses, at least for today?_

"Why?" Alfred looked back down at the doll faced boy, immediately able to pick up on something out of place. "What's wrong? I know something's bothering you."

He soon realized how stern he must've sounded, since it seemed like Arthur took offense. Though, everything seemed to go to normal as he wrote a response.

 _I don't like riding my bus. I don't like the other people._

"Ah, uh. I mean, I can drive you home today, of that's what you want."

He smiled, flashing his canine teeth in a goofy fashion. _Thanks. Oh, and I almost forgot that I have something else for you today._

"Really now?" he humored the other. Arthur nodded.

 _Actually, it's more for Eleanor rather than you._

Alfie feigned offense and fanned his fingertips on his heart. "So what am I? The middleman?"

He nodded. _You'll just have to wait to see what I mean._

* * *

"So, Artie," Alfred putted towards the Chevy, the Englishman in tow. "What's the surprise?"

As expected, he was not provided a verbal answer, but rather, the whole deal. When they arrived at Eleanor's passenger side door, Arthur handed the football player an Arctic Monkeys album, "AM". Due to his astonishment, Alfred acted like fool as he accepted the student's gift.

"Wow, this is really…" his mind went blank. Just dead, empty space. So spacious that tumbleweeds populated the vacant brain space. Absolutely void of all sense, no source for any thought out reply was reachable. "Nice."

Arthur smiled, as if to say "you're welcome". Damn, he had him by the balls this time. He had brought him vampire teeth and now this. And what had Alfred done for him? Daydreaming. A lot of creepy daydreaming. His mobile vibrated: a new message.

 _Do you like the Arctic Monkeys? Or was I just assuming again?_

"No, no! You're right, I love them!" Ally corrected, motioning his hands along. "It's just, how did you get this? You didn't buy it just for me, did you?"

He shook his head. _I have a lot music; my parents buy CDs for me because they think I'm homesick._

"Oh, I see," he flipped to the back of the case. He knew every song on the album, and he could hardly wait to give it a play. "So, am I dropping you off at the same place as before?"

He nodded, and it was invitation to board the vehicle. Alfred inserted the disc and it began playing, "Do I Wanna Know?", one of his favorites.

" _Have you got color in your cheeks? Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift, the type that sticks around like something in your teeth?_

" _Have you no idea that you're in deep? I dreamt about you nearly every night this week. How many secrets can you keep?"_

The athletic teen couldn't help his excitement; he was listening to his favorite kind of music with his favorite kind of person. Was he even alive? He shouldn't have been, since he lost count of how many heart beats he'd missed recently. So, naturally, Jones started to sing softly to the tune.

" _Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways? Sad to see you go, was sort of hoping that you'd stay. Baby we both know, that the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day."_

Arthur must have thought Alfred's singing was inferred, because he began mouthing the words, but still retaining quietness.

" _Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do. Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new."_

He glinted his sky blue eyes over to the hazel adolescent, it being the only method to see Arthur's lips do anything other than fall in a straight line. It was sinful how much pleasure Alfred took from the sight.

The next song, "R U Mine?" started, and so did their "singing".

" _In my mind when she's not right there beside me, I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be. And satisfaction feels like a distant memory. And I can't help myself, all I wanna hear her say is 'Are you mine?'_

" _Well, are you mine? Are you mine tomorrow? Are you mine or just tonight? And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways. So in case I'm mistaken, I just wanna hear you say you got me, baby. Are you mine?"_

If there ever was a time where Alfred thought he had felt romantic tension, he would be oh-so-very wrong. Mouthing to the words of modern love songs made him practically taste the anguish lingering in the air, alike to a bad taste in his mouth. Yet, it was still not enough to halt his progress.

"So, Artie," Ally began. "Do you actually like listening to this, or just putting up with it for me?"

 _I like it, it's just something you wouldn't think I'd like._

"You're right, I don't."

They sat in more silence with the music in the background, but Alfred's wandering mind did not take a rest. Just sitting beside Arthur felt like precious time spent well, more time for bonding. He took random glances at the smaller teenager, falling instantly in love with how the way his hair succumbed to the wind. He looked so distant and out of it, just like an astronaut lost in space. Arthur's calmness somehow soothed Alfred's nerves, although it did not explain much. Perhaps it was the English boy's aspect; his otherworldliness was like an addictive drug that Alfred was itching to take a hit of.

"Okay, so do I take a turn here?" he asked unnecessarily. Of course he would remember where the sweetheart lived, as strange as it sounded. He wouldn't forget anything about the blond boy, from his address to his shoe size.

When they pulled up to the front of the Kirkland residence, Alfred was petrified. There it was, sitting in the driveway in all her glory. A 1996 Cadillac Hearse, metal bars on the sides and everything. It was so morbid just to look at it, but wondering if it belonged to him was even more disturbing.

Arthur glanced at Alfred and sent him: _Do you want to see it?_

"Yes, I would," he tried hard to remain positive. But for Christs' sake, it was a hearse! It used to carry around dead people! And the older the hearse, the more corpses it carted around. It sent shivers up his spine.

Arthur lead the way to the vehicle and smiled up at Alfred. He asked: _What do you think? Isn't it cool?_

"Yeah, I guess so," he rubbed the back of his neck. "But don'tcha think it's kinda creepy?" He shook his head. "Not even a little? Arthur responded the same.

 _I got it when I was fifteen, but I haven't drove it in about a year._

"How come?"

 _Something terrible happened._

"Did someone get hurt?" he felt like he was finally catching on. The other bobbed his head. "What happened?"

 _One of my relatives died in a car crash not too long ago. I haven't been able to get myself to drive since then._

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss."

The pair scuffed their feet in the muddy awkwardness of the conversation. A woman who, in her mid-forties, emerged from the front door began walking towards him and called, "Arthur, you're home already! Who's car is—"

She stopped the instant she saw Alfred, and her cheeks painted red with embarrassment. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't know you had someone over, darling!"

Arthur motioned his hands in a string of words, Al was only able to catch a few words. Damn, he needed to learn sign language, and badly. The woman made an 'o' shape with her cherry red lips and held out her right hand.

"Hello, Alfred!" she took a firm grasp on his hand. "I'm Arthur's mom. I've heard so much about you!"

He parted his mouth slightly and flickered his blue eyes over to the boy in question, his hands rubbing his upper arms and head turned the other way.

"Nice to meet ya!" he greeted happily. "I was just driving Arthur home! I hope you don't mind!"

"Not at all. Actually," she trailed off for a moment to completely evaluate him, "you seem very nice. I think I like you."

Alfred smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. His mother jumped as she gasped, "Oh, Arthur, honey! Those skater boys were back today!"

"Skater boys?" Alfred straightened his brow and peered over at Arthur. He held his head low.

"They like skateboarding just like Arthur!" she explained. "They usually come by on the weekends and skate with him."

Arthur was beet red, as was Alfred. Not from exposure to the new information, but from slow-building rage. Yet, he resided his anger for his pillow when he got home, and asked, "Would you mind if Arthur could hang out at my house tomorrow, Mrs. Kirkland?"

She blushed, "Oh, sure!"

"Great!"

Arthur continued to sulk as he stood behind Alfred like an unhappy toddler. When she left, the Brit whipped out his mobile and sent a text.

 _Don't call that woman, "Mrs. Kirkland"._

Realizing his mistake, the jock apologized, "Oh, I'm so sorry! Is she your step mom, or something?"

 _Or something._

He darted his eyes from left to right, and shrugged, "Then, who is she?"

 _No one important._

Alfred made a whooping sound with his hands raised in innocence, "Whoa! I didn't know about the family drama! Excuse _me!_ "

He received the most displeased expression. _Let's just say she's only temporary._

"Temporary?" he quirked a brow, Arthur mirrored. "Can you explain?"

His beautiful eyes scanned the perimeter to come up with a story. _I might tell you sometime in the future. Sooner than you think._

"Okay, I can wait," he surprised Arthur and himself as he said. "I mean, I'm not pushin' ya to say nothin'! It's not the end of the world if ya choose not to tell me!"

The look in his eyes were screaming with gratefulness, and it was so fulfilling to see such a sight. "But you'd better keep your promise and come to my house!"

 _I didn't make any promises._

"Yes you did!" his tone grew playful. "If you want to see my cat, you have to promise me!"

Arthur attempted to keep a straight face, but not for long. Alfred offered his right little finger, "Pinky promise me you'll come home with me tomorrow!"

The boy was reluctant, so he took his pinky with his own, screaming, "Promise, promise! Promise me!"

He straightened up and nodded his head. He said, "Thank you, thank you so much! You won't regret it!"

Soon after, Alfred waved Arthur off and drove straight home. He was so ecstatic, more than he had ever been before. Arthur Kirkland, the most beautiful and interesting guy, was staying after school at his house. What could there possibly be to ruin his good mood?

"Hey, Maddie! I'm home!" Alfred screeched upon entering. His little sister, short and sweet, came barreling a hundred miles an hour down the staircase to greet her brother.

Madeline balled her fists and puffed her chest excitedly, since her heart probably could not take much more. "Why so late? Were you hangin' out with Arthur? Tell me everything! I gotta know!"

Alfred simply laughed and headed for the refrigerator. She trailed him like a pet caught in the rain. "C'mon, big bro! You can tell me anything!"

He turned around and his smile tattled to the world. "Arthur's comin' here after school tomorrow!"

Maddie squealed and stomped her feet alongside her sibling. "You did it! How long is he staying? Whaddya have planned? Have ya asked mom and pop yet?"

He showed his palms and said, "Whoa, calm down! We're just gonna chill, alright?"

She wriggled her shapely eyebrows and smirked maliciously, "Netflix and chill?"

"Hell no!"

"Then tell me exactly!"

Alfred puffed his rosy cheeks to relieve some of the embarrassment that only his sister could cause. "I don't know, I just thought we would let it happen."

"So you're tellin' me you've got nothing planned? And you'd technically be on a date with Arthur Kirkland, A.K.A the boy of your dreams?"

Pansy pink swept from ear to ear as he corrected, "Yeah? So what!"

"So everything!" Alfie started to walk away, his sister followed. He retreated to his bedroom and began closing the door on Maddie's face, she protruded from the crack, "What're ya gonna do in there that's so much more important than mapping out your precious time with that boy?"

He shrugged, "Listen to music."

She stormed off with an uncanny resemblance to her older brother, and he went about his business. Alfred whipped out his laptop and went straight for YouTube. He keyed in, "Wish You Were Here".

" _So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain? Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?_

" _How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year, running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here."_

Alfred wiggled with delight. The song was more enjoyable than he thought it would actually be. He thought that maybe it was one of those annoying songs that he would have to put up with because Arthur liked it. Yet he was wrong. It was easily becoming one of _his_ favorite songs, as well.

Jones plopped onto his bed, his Captain America sheets flew above and back down again. He pulled out his cell phone and decided to text Arthur.

 _Hey, I know this seems late but when u were talking w/ your mom earlier, was that real sign language?_

Al sent the message, but it was too late once he realized how retarded it must've sounded. _Duh_ , what else could they have been communicating in? Latin?

 _Yes._

He was partially relaxed when Arthur didn't ask questions, just a straightforward answer. It was one of many things he liked about him.

 _That's rly cool! But since u live w/ her, wouldn't it easier to tlk 2 her?_

The wait for the next reply wasn't as long, but just as nerve wracking.

 _No._

"But wait," Alfred subsided the technological conversation for one with himself. "He _has_ to talk to at least one other person. If not, how does he get by?"

 _Is there any1 u tlk 2?_

This time, the interval was elongated.

 _No._

Al's thumbs were fired on the keyboard as he kept the conversation going. _Do u ever c urself tlking to some1?_

 _Your grammar is atrocious._

He punched himself in the kneecap for that one. _Do you ever see yourself talking to someone?_

 _That's better._

 _Well, do you?_

There was a pause, and then a disappointing response.

 _No._

It seemed like "no" was his favorite phrase, like an infant's first word and the only thing it knew how to say.

 _Okay. But can I ask one more thing? You can say no if you want._

 _Alright._

Alfred stiffened his shoulders as he readied his question.

 _Why did you decide to stop talking?_

 _I can't say._

"Yeah, well, no shit ya can't say anything," Alfred was impatient for a moment.

 _So I take that as a no?_

 _Take it as you want._

His eye automatically twitched as a brow jumped, "What the hell does that mean?"

* * *

Alfred ran down the empty hallway, a few exceptions for meandering students. He finally caught up with an angry Ivan and Yao. "Guys! I'm so sorry I'm late!"

Yao Wang tapped his foot and folded his arms, "You're forty five minutes late to practice."

"I know, I was just—"

"Just what?" Ivan was almost as enraged as the smaller Chinese boy.

He ran his fingers through the hair on the back of his neck as he said, "I had to drive someone home."

The much bigger jocks glowered down at him. Well, it wasn't it complete boldfaced lie. Alfred tried to convince him otherwise. That maybe he could drive him home and go to his house after practice. Maybe they could go someplace else, or perhaps they could just call it off, and it would be all Alfred's fault, since he decided to neglect his athletic responsibilities. Yet, Arthur still wanted to go through with it, and was especially excited to hear that he had practice, and wanted to watch him play. It was appeasing.

"Well, you got lucky this time, Alfred," Yao went easy on him. "But if you miss another day, coach is going to give your position away!"

"Alright, alright!" he displayed his palms. "I'm here for good! Promise!"

When he changed in the locker room stalls, Alfred sighed in secrecy. He pulled the Led Zeppelin shirt off his back as he glanced around the bathroom cubicle. It was anything but picturesque to stare at a toilet as he changed, but he felt like it would be wrong for him to change with the other guys. Though he liked the same sex, that didn't make him any less of a man, did it? He agreed to disagree, and settled for the stalls.

As he ran onto the field, Alfred waved at everyone, eyes on them but attention on the bleachers. It wasn't like he forced him, either. Arthur actually wanted to see him play. It encouraged him even more to not screw up.

The appropriate time came, Jones faced the seats and greeted him with a wave. Arthur twiddled his fingers shyly, almost like he was afraid of something. Maybe not pure fear, but he still looked shaken up. Alfred wanted to talk to him so badly.

"Look who decided to show up!" the coach yelled. "What makes you think you can show your face this time around?"

Al shrugged, "I'm quarter back, did'ya think I'd leave forever?"

Everybody brushed it off. Yao made hushed whooping sounds as he secretly pointed to the only spectator in the bleachers. "Who the hell brought Kirkland? Does he even know anybody here? What a weirdo!"

Alfred bared his teeth. He forgot that nobody liked Arthur, as odd as it sounded. It angered him, that someone he felt like since he met he couldn't live separated from, was shunned. Jones didn't yet understand the reason why.

"Alright! Get your asses in gear!" coach ordered, the team complied. "We've got a lot to do today!"

For the rest of practice, Alfred could hardly pay attention. Football was his best subject, he usually never slacked off this bad. He had too many things on his mind today, mostly Arthur. _Arthur Kirkland._ Nope, it still sounded beautiful. Would he ever get sick of hearing that name?

As the training ended, Alfred hurried as best as he could to change and be of aid by Arthur's side. Leaving him by himself with the other guys would be a bad idea.

"Hey, Artie!" he waved. The alien returned the gesture, and Alfred squealed on the inside. Just imagine how people would treat him if he acted how he truly was. Like an eleven year old girl.

Arthur look up at him, one eye squinted and the other closed from the direct ray of the sun, making it's daily rotations. In this moment, Alfred noticed things he must have been overlooking the entire few weeks he knew him. Arthur's upper band of pearly whites were biting his bottom lip, his face screwed. He noticed the other's canine teeth were longer than average, but they weren't fake this time, Al could tell. It made him smile, like Kirkland was his little vampire, or something.

"So, you still wanna come to my house?" he made sure of their loosely calculated plans. Arthur nodded. "Alright then! Let's go!"

As they staggered their way to Eleanor, the five o'clock sun set his corneas ablaze. Alfred mumbled a string of curse words, a coping mechanism. Arthur's method was to take hold of the taller boy's bookbag. Alfred was taken by surprise by his actions. It was the little things that made it worth his while, but he was happy that the teen was comfortable enough to rely upon him. Alfred grinned once again; he was wondering why he couldn't stop anymore.

* * *

Alfred lead Arthur into the three-story, single family home, his mind played cat–and–mouse. He opened the door and was immediately covered by his little sister. It was one of her more pleasurable routines, sloppily embracing Alfred when he got home from school. He patted her back, the smell of her light blonde hair reminded him of brown sugar.

"Alfie! You're home!" Madeline looks Arthur in his intimidated gaze. "And who's this!"

Al huffed, as if he didn't already know where she was going with this conversation. He tried to stay jovial, ping-ponging the attitude into the atmosphere as to not seem suspicious. "C'mon, sis! You know who he is, we all go to school together!"

She tilted her head and said with that sweet tone, "Arthur Kirkland! I know who you are!"

He smiled, and Alfred continued to say, "We're just gonna hang out or do homework, maybe. We'll be in the kitchen, 'kay?"

Maddie nodded and left them at peace. She wasn't a nuisance, but now Alfred could do what he wanted with Arthur, excluding her childish judgement. It was calming to just be in the same room, alone, with the student. That is, until the family cat came strutting into the room.

"Oh, hey, Junior!" Alfred greeted. Although, he wanted to kick him out, but it was the main reason his crush was standing in the middle of his living room.

Arthur looked like he wanted to scream, he was so red in the face. He approached the cat with caution before he scooped him off the floor and cradled it like a baby. Al spoke out, "So, that's Jones Junior. Do you like him?"

He nodded, like he was going to break his neck. In the meantime, the American football star scuffed into the kitchen to make a much deserved cup of decaf coffee. "I'm making coffee? Want some?"

Arthur agreed, and continued to play with the cat as Alfred was sent to work. As he did so, he took occasional peeks at Arthur and Junior, just to check up on them. It was odd how protective he had grown over this boy in a matter of a short while. And to see him interacting with his cat, who had been an important part of his life much longer than Arthur, made Alfred think once again of how slim their chances of meeting actually were. What would he even do if he hadn't met Arthur? A better question: what would he do now that he had?

"Here," he presented two beverages to the island countertop. Arthur placed the animal back for the hardwood and sat at the stool across from Alfred's. "So, you really like cats, huh?"

His perfect blond hair moved slightly to his head bob. "Do you have a cat?" He frowned. "Aw, why not?"

He pulled out his cell: _My parents don't like them._

"That's sad," he sympathized. "Is it just you and your mom and dad? Do you have any siblings?"

 _No, I've always been an only child. Though, sometimes, when I see people like you and your sister, it makes me happy._

"Does it make you wish you had a little brother or sister?"

 _On occasion. But I think it would be nice to have someone constantly by my side regardless, don't you think so?_

Alfred smiled like the dork he truly was at the statement, but not of a sibling sort of nature. "Yeah, I do."

A couple seconds of silence as they sipped their coffee. "Hey, if you don't mind my asking, why did you move here all the way from England, you and your parents?"

 _The death in my family, if you remember my mentioning it._

"Oh, okay." Alfred secretly wished he could continue his interrogation, since Arthur did not seem to mind at the moment, but he left the rest of the story up to his interpretation. Asking anything further would blow his cover.

Then again, his curiosity was nearly eating him from the inside out. "Yeah, but why did your whole family move? Who died?"

Arthur looked resentful at first, but send a text, nonetheless. _If I tell you, would it make you think any less of me? Treat me any different?_

"Of course not," Alfred's tone lowered to a soothing sound. "You can tell me anything."

 _My parents are buried back in England._

He froze, dead center. He nearly choked on his black coffee, the cup clinked on the granite on its way back down. Sure, he may have expected something like this, but the response was a little more on the sob story side than he had originally predicted.

"Oh, so _they_ were the ones who were in the car crash?" Alfred finally concluded. "So then, is that why I can't call your mom, 'Mrs. Kirkland'?"

He nodded. God, that head gesture would be so unpredictable at the worst of times. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Although morbid, Alfred was still very much interested in their discussion. "How did you find out about the accident? Were you in school?"

 _I was there._

He opened his oceanic eyes a bit wider, "Whoa, seriously? Did you get hurt?"

 _Yes. I was in the backseat, and I severely fractured my back._

Now that was a sight Alfred was practically dying to see. Imagining if he ever saw the pretty boy's back, he probably wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself. He had so many questions: how serious was his condition? Would his spine feel different from everybody else's? Could he see it?

"I know it sounds weird, but I think that's pretty cool," Ally admitted, the other cocked his head. "Even though it's a serious medical condition, it's something that sets you apart from everybody else. For example, I have cataracts in both eyes, my right being the more serious one."

Arthur's face lit up, but not in a happy way. It was more like excitement, as if legal blindness was his favorite topic to discuss.

 _That sounds even cooler! Were you born with it, or was it something that developed over time?_

"Uh, yeah, I was born with it," he pursed his lips and darted his eyes to the side. "I remember my first pair of prescription glasses when I was only two years old."

 _How hard is it to see without them, then?_

Alfred tried to think of adjectives that didn't make him to have the mindset of a four year old. "It's kinda cloudy, like I always have something in my eye, but without pain."

Arthur held his chin in his palms, seeming to be fascinated by the subject. Alfred thought of a brilliant idea, "Hey, do you want to know exactly how blind I am?"

The fairy tale blond nodded, and he handed over his bifocals. His fragile little hands slid them up the bridge of his nose, and a smile graced the room with its presence.

 _They're so strong, it's a wonder how you can focus with these on._

He shrugged, "You just get used to it."

Arthur slowly took them off his face, and, for a brief passing, the two boys stared at each other. Alfred wanted to look away, but no matter how much the desire increased, he couldn't. It seemed to be the same case for Arthur.

Eventually, the other blond dashed his eyes away and set them up on his mobile screen.

 _You're on the football team. Quarterback, right?_

"Yeah, I am," Alfred took his spectacles back.

 _Do you have to wear contacts on game days?_

"Yeah, I do!" he was excited to finally fully answer a question. "But if you really wanna know, why don'tcha come to this Friday's game?"

Arthur smiled, "I mean, do ya have anything planned? Do you wanna watch me win for the school, as I always do?"

The Brit soundlessly giggled: _Sure, I like watching you play. Mostly because American football is a lot different from British football._

"Oh, yeah. Your football is soccer, isn't it?" The other boy nodded. "Do you like it?"

 _No, I hate all sports. I'm not very good at them._

"I see," Alfred searched for another topic as their current one reached the end of a dead end street. "But you like skateboarding, isn't that a sport?"

He shrugged: _But I believe, despite being an athlete, you wouldn't know how to ride._

"Is that a bet?" Alfred pursed his lips and quirked his brow. "Because I'll take it."

Arthur smiled and put his head back down. _Would you like for me to teach you? I have a few boards we can practice with._

"Really?" The other bobbed his head. "Cool, I've always wanted to skateboard."

 _How about after the game on Friday? I can drive there and we'll go to my house afterwards._

An image of the Cadillac popped in Alfred's mind again. And to think, he would be driving it at night! Imagine how scary! "Oh, that's okay! I can take us in Eleanor!"

 _I'm okay with that._

The teens finished their cups of coffee and went up to the American's bedroom, after the Englishman's chase after Jones Junior. Arthur flopped onto the boy's mattress, Alfred could hardly contain himself. He imagined if there would ever be a time they would share that bed as lovers.

Jones made his way to his desk, he sat down and the feline came cantering in. Junior hopped up on the bed and made himself especially comfortable in Arthur's hold. "So, I guess Junior likes you, too, huh?"

He grinned and curled up in a ball and sighed. It sounded so beautiful. The Captain America bedsheets were tangled at the end of his feet, his oversized Converse already on the floor. The cat moved again and laid by his neck, making Alfred secretly jealous. What he wouldn't give to kiss that neck, to whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

"So, what time do you want me to take you back?" Alfred tried his hardest to make conversation. "Not that I want you to leave early, or anything!"

 _I'm not sure. Maybe around 5, or something._

"I'm cool," Alfred slouched back in his rolling chair. "What do you want to do now?" Arthur reluctantly sat up and replied via text message.

 _It doesn't matter, I'm okay with whatever you want to do._

Alfred grinned, "Okay, wanna watch a movie, or something?"

Arthur stood up and the pair left back for the living room. And during the whole time they watched "Mean Girls", Alfred's thoughts ran with free spirit with all sorts of questions. How far would he get with Arthur, actually? When he first met him a few weeks ago, it seemed like nothing would ever happen. Now, he had disclosed so much information, it was hard to deny their slow building friendship. Though, how many others knew of his parents fate? Alfred felt like he was gradually opening up to him to create this friendship and, hopefully, the best damn relationship he'd ever have.

* * *

 _To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur ran out in middle of the empty backroad, his hand dragged Alfred's along behind. With his dirty blond hair proportioned from his head to his neck in the right way, his clothing tight in all the right places, he looked just as beautiful from behind as he did in the front. One final yank lead to the American to face the English daydream full on.

Alfred examined their surroundings, woods and restricted wildlife, but he was more focused on what was right in front of him. Arthur's fair skin was reflecting the moonlight, his bangs were like jagged pieces of a broken mirror, some strands combed through his lashes. Something about him was so attractive, but Alfred couldn't pinpoint a single leading reason. He was just so… _desirable_. Nothing could be helped.

" _What did you bring me out here for?"_ the taller blond asked, but he didn't care for an answer.

Arthur only smiled and took his hand again, running away, off for another adventure. But the Kirkland boy was an adventure all in himself. Alfred didn't care where he was or what situation he would get himself into, as long as he had the teen by his side. As long as he had Arthur Kirkland, things would turn out alright, wouldn't they?

Alfred took the opportunity to intertwine his fingers in Arthur's; they felt as smooth as his hair. " _You do know how bad I want you, don't you?"_

He said nothing and turned his head, gazing wistfully at the full moon that illuminated the dead nightlife. It drove Alfred crazy, that look in his eye. The look that saw through to the future, yet its owner not intending to make it through the rest of highschool. How long would he make it? How long would _they_ make it?

" _You're very important to me,"_ he made another attempt to show his affections. Ally's fingers curled on his imperfect cheek. " _I wanted to make sure you knew that, at least. Or did you already have that figured out?"_

No response, instead, the same spacey aspect on his face. He wondered if Arthur was high all the time, and if he could join him. Sometimes, he felt like he spent too much time worrying, that maybe all he needed was a break. And Arthur Kirkland was his calling.

Throughout the rest of the dream, Arthur still did not speak, which befuddled Alfred. He thought that he would've at least fabricated a voice for him, just to make the experience a little more realistic. Yet, these things would not become reality, just figments of Alfred F. Jones' imagination.

* * *

"Hey, Artie!" Alfred took his usual seat in class beside the blond. He waved back. "So, you excited for the game later?"

Arthur nodded with much enthusiasm. He reached for a stray piece of paper and Al's pencil from his willing hand. _I'm so excited to watch you play. I'm also curious as to how American football works._

"Oh, it's pretty easy!" he swatted the air. "You'll catch on fast!"

Arthur smiled, a sight growing increasingly common these days. Alfred was thankful for that, though, it raised more questions than it answered. Would Arthur even smile at all if he had decided to give up on him? What would have become of him? What would have become of _them?_ Curse Alfred and his overthinking, it was going to get him in trouble some day.

"Are we still on for skateboarding lessons afterwards?" he asked, the blond cutie agreed.

 _Yes, I'm very much looking forward to that._

He quirked a brow, "Why? So you can watch me bust my ass a thousand times?"

Arthur snorted air silently through his nostrils. _I look forward to that, as well._

"Well, you'll be surprised," Alfred playfully argued. "For all you know, I could be the next Tony Hawk."

He hung his head and shifted it away, so the athlete was deprived of his drop dead gorgeous grin. Alfred darefully slid his hand over the boy's scalp, not so much that he looked like a creeper. Just as a sign of affection, and Arthur seemed to like it, judging by how much his smile grew. His canine teeth were all natural today, and they were still as beautiful as the last time he saw them.

For the rest of English class, Alfred couldn't help but to think of anything but the lovely teenager. Today Arthur was wearing the tightest black skinny jeans he had ever seen in his entire life. His sweater said, "I Don't Believe In Humans", with an aesthetic alien matching the text. He was still wearing his usual black Converse shoes, which were somewhat symbolic at this point.

Arthur Kirkland's ghost white hair and skin tone were as they were on a daily basis. Yet, with every passing day, they were becoming more and more attractive. His eyes seemed to glow brighter with every glance, and Alfred felt like he kept falling in love with him every day. Though, how would he know if it were true love? Would there be some kind of sign? Or was the Godsent angel enough an omen?

"And I'll teach you the things you get stuck on at halftime," Alfred included extra assistance. Arthur cocked his head.

 _Halftime?_

"Oh, that just means the game is halfway over!" he clarified. "That's usually when everybody relaxes and gets ice cream."

He bobbed his chin. _Coolness. I can't wait until then. I'm sure I'll have lots of questions for you at "halftime"._

Al chuckled, "I'm sure you will."

* * *

"Jones! Snap out of it, son!" the coach called for the blond's attention. Alfred pulled his head out of the clouds, now residing in a heavy fog.

"Wha-What did ya want?" he asked. His inability to pay attention these days was a growing concern.

"Listen! You've been spacin' out like whatever you're thinkin' of is more important than football!" he scolded, hands on his hips. "Now, can ya repeat to me what I just said?"

As if he had no control, Alfred was daydreaming of yet another impossible scenario with the Englishman. On this particular occasion, they were holding hands and walking down the coastline. He smiled; that would be absolutely lovely. Yet, the other blond boy was watching him from the bleachers, and he was permitted from interacting with him. It was like a modern day Romeo and Juliet, the only thing separating them was the coach and the crowds.

" _Jones!"_

He soon came to his senses, "Seriously! I'm paying attention, it's just an off day! I'm tellin' the truth!" The sports director believed him and practice went on. Although, Alfred would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about Arthur on more than a few occurrences.

When he changed, he ran immediately to the bleachers for his Juliet, but was befuddled to discover he wasn't there. He was, just a few minutes ago. Now it seemed like he simply vanished into thin air. Then again, it wouldn't be hard to find him. Who else would he go to? Arthur Kirkland was like a nervous house cat, and would not go to certain people, or react the same.

Then, Arthur came lurking from behind the locker room building, like an answer to Alfred's prayers. He exclaimed, "Artie, there you are! I got really worried for a minute there!"

He lifted an eyebrow and angled his head towards his right shoulder. _What do you mean? I was only gone for a few minutes. Didn't you notice me?_

"Sorry, no," Joes was feeling guilty of not being observant enough. "I was supposed to pay attention, though, it was kinda hard today."

 _Why?_

"I got a feeling that something was wrong," he turned his head. "But I guess I was just overthinking things again."

Arthur looked away, he stole those perfect doll baby eyes again. Alfred wanted ever so desperately for the mute to say something, anything, to convey influence, disagreement. He wanted him to say that he was wrong, that something was indeed bothering his fragile soul. Arthur bit his bottom lip and hung his head lower than normal.

 _But of course,_ Alfred thought.

"So, you wanna head home? We'll probably have just enough time to eat before the game."

Arthur slowly motioned his head. They left in the cherry red convertible, adding more worries to Alfred's already buzzing skull. Maybe the wind was all he needed, to fly away from his idiosyncrasies, and become someone else. The red Chevrolet would be his one way ticket to living life to the fullest, a free ride out of everything he wanted to run away from. To drive far away, those things would not matter any longer.

When they arrived at the Jones' residence, Alfred changed back into his sports uniform as quickly as possible. He knew that Arthur would at least be entertained by Jones Junior at the moment, but he didn't want all of the limelight on his pet whilst he lurked in the shadows backstage.

"Sorry about that," he huffed as he joined the other. "Coach only gives us enough time to get home and eat something. Then we have to change and head back."

He nodded. "Okay, so, can I make you something?"

 _Tea, is all. Thank you, Ally._

"Ally" laughed, "Oh, so you remember that, too, huh?" Arthur flashed another smile; it was becoming more common than a PlayBoy Bunny flashing what she had underneath her wet, white t-shirt.

The two sat at the kitchen island, Alfred remembered the last time they sat there. He was beholden at Arthur's willingness to confess his deepest secret, that he was comfortable enough to confide. Or was it his _darkest_ secret? Since the boy did not speak, there was a strong possibility that he would keep more things hidden as long as he chose to stay soundless. It broke Alfred's heart.

"So, would you sit by my friends when we get there?" he asked, keeping his insecurities in mind. Arthur shrugged.

 _Who are they?_

"There's Elizabeth, Gilbert, and maybe Francis." Arthur seemed to have jumped out his skin, then he asked, "What's wrong? Would you be uncomfortable around them?"

He violently shook his head. _I'm not sure what will become of you if they don't like me._

"What! Oh, c'mon!" he swatted the air. "They're nice, they won't bite!"

 _But what if I do something wrong?_

Alfred pondered upon the best option, "What do you mean by that?"

Arthur didn't answer, even more heartbreaking than a response would be. Alfred blew it off and pursued his coffee, instead. But he had to wonder what the the real reason was; was he _lying_ to him?

"Anyway," Alfred turned his head for a distraction. "Are you gonna sit by my friends? They're dying to meet you, they'll be totally cool with it!"

Arthur seemed like he needed convincing, as he raised his shoulders to say, "and what if I don't?"

"Don't worry, they'll love you!" His hazel eyes looked hopeful for a moment. "So, you promise me?" With much reluctance, the boy held out his right pinkie, and Alfred graciously accepted it. "Thank you! I'm so happy you'll be watching me!"

Arthur smiled, yet again hanging Alfred's heart out to dry. It was cynical whether or not he knew how deep his admirations were, let alone of their existence. It was slowly tearing him apart, between that and the lost aspect that glazed over his beautiful eyes from time to time.

When their free time was up, Arthur and Alfred headed back out for the old Chevy, driving back to the school. As they arrived, brown haired Elizabeth came with open arms. "Alfie, you're here!" she wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes. She turned to Arthur and grinned, "Oh, hey! You're Arthur Kirkland, right?"

He shook his head, Alfred worried. The poor boy looked like he was going to topple over due to his immense shaking. The athlete wanted to ditch the game and take Arthur home in attempts to comfort him. He thought twice; It was childish and wasn't worth his time to dream up.

"Yeah, this is my new bestie!" Alfred threw an arm around his shoulder for persuasion. Yes, Arthur was delicate and not at all like his mostly masculine friends, but the last he needed was his closest friends thinking he was his boyfriend, or knowing he was gay. "Say hey, guys."

Gilbert and Elizabeth waved animatedly, but Francis wasn't as pleased. _Please, God. Don't let anything bad happen tonight._

"So, why don'tcha go get ready and we'll take Arthur under our wing?" Lizzy suggested. Alfred took one final look at him and agreed.

"Gimme a hug before I leave, Artie!" he held his arms wide open. Arthur slowly snaked his arms around his waist in a short embrace. They bid each other goodbye and Alfred jogged to the locker room, to meet with the team again until game time.

"Jones!" the coach reprimanded. "About damn time you got here!"

He smirked and ran his fingers through his sandy locks, "I've got a life outside of sports, ya know."

He received half dirty glances, but Alfred had all the confidence in the world right now. Nothing could dampen his mood, no one could change his mind.

Throughout the game, Alfred knew he was too preoccupied to play, like an alcoholic's intuition to drive after a long night at the pub. Arthur was the one thing he thought about, so much that he had difficulty keeping his attention on the problem in front of him. His stomach was churning thinking about his skating lesson after the game, and how he was going to screw it up, somehow. Yet, Alfred tried to remain positive. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, it just might actually bring them closer.

"Hey, guys!" Alfred ran to his friends as they cleared the bleachers. Everybody stood still and soundless as Arthur reached the group. He beamed, "Artie! There ya are!"

Again, no one said anything, only uncomfortable silence filled the dead space. Gilbert laughed stiffly, "Well, we were gonna go get ice cream, so…"

"That's a great idea!" Alfred exclaimed. He glanced down at Arthur, "Do you want any?" The Brit shook his head, then he turned to his colleagues and excused himself, "You guys go on without me! I'm gonna hang back with Arthur!"

Francis was the first to shrug, and the rest of the crew followed in his footsteps, leaving the two boys alone together. Alfred smiled as he continued, "So, how do you like American football so far?"

Arthur shrugged. _I was very confused, but it looked like fun. You're really good at it._

"Yeah, but it gets old fast," Alfred scratched the back of his neck. The boy looked up at him with a brow raised. "Oh, I'm sorry if I don't make any sense." He pointed to ice cream vendor, "Do you want to get ice cream with me?"

Arthur nodded and lead the way, Alfred smiled affectionately.

* * *

"Hey, Artie!" Alfred waved as the Alma Mater anthem died out. Arthur smiled and approached him, his friends in an circle behind him. He, surprisingly, reached for his neck and gave him a short a hug. When they separated, Al asked, "How was the game? Did you guys have fun?"

Gilbert laughed, "You totally sucked ass! You're usually so on point!"

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck and explained, "Yeah, I guess you could say I was caught off guard tonight."

"Well, your little slip up made us lose!" Elizabeth came from behind her boyfriend. "You were in fucking outer space!"

He shrugged, still standing in front of Arthur. "I've just been out of it, lately."

Everybody raised eyebrows and dropped jaws. The German exclaims, "Wait, you're not thinking of quitting the team, are you?"

"No, not at all!" he flashed his million dollar smile. Of course he was thinking about quitting. Did they think he wanted to be a jock for the rest of his short life? "What're you guys gonna do? See a movie, or something?"

Francis yawned and said, "Fuck that, I'm going home. I've had too much to sleep on."

"Yeah," Gilbert agreed. He looked down at his lover, "Maybe you'd like to 'go to sleep' with me, huh, Lizzy?"

The brunette inhaled deeply and rested her head on his chest, "Sure, I'm beat." He muttered a discreet, "shit", and Alfred laughed.

"Well, what're you going to do, Al?" the blond boy asked.

"Me and Artie were gonna hang out," he glanced down at the beauty. He jokingly spat, "He's a better friend than all of you combined."

They nonchalantly agreed, their tired eyes drooped. That was the thing about Alfred's friends: they were very predictable, never usually disagreed. Their only dispute was about Arthur, but it blew over quickly. Though, that wasn't the case for the new kid. Arthur seemed to passively disagree with almost everything Alfred said, and he loved it. It made the athletic blond feel curiously frustrated, drawing him even closer to the English boy.

* * *

Alfred parked Eleanor in the Kirkland driveway, and the boys hopped out during the midnight hour. Arthur excused himself to his bedroom to get his skateboards, the American patiently waited and stargazed.

As the boy returned, Alfred was thoroughly confused by the instruments of choice. Arthur was holding a long, decorative board in his dominant hand, and a older, shorter one in the other. He tossed the regular skateboard at Alfred, he, barely being able to catch it.

"What's this?" the clueless teen asked. Out of the blue, Arthur pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. He lit up and, dumping his illegal belongings with Alfred, took off on the longboard. His hair floated in space, his loose-fitting sweater moved in waves as he left everything behind. He was lost as he reached further down the street and further from the street lights.

As the sweet angel came whipping back and past him, he pulled out his cell phone: _Okay, so I just demonstrated. Now you try._

"I d-don't know how comfortable I am with this just yet," Alfred decided to chicken out at the last minute. Arthur raised his brows sympathetically and replied.

 _It's not hard, you just have to go with it._

"But what I'm sayin' is that I don't think I can get it just from watching you one time."

He kept his gaze as he kicked the board up with only his left foot. That was impressive. _The one I gave you was my first board, I learned to ride with it. Now you will._

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck and procrastinated, "Yeah, I dunno how I feel—" Arthur tilted his head up and puffed his current breath of cigarette right in the jock's face. He coughed and swatted the air, as he complied, "Alright, alright! Just take your damn cigarettes!"

Arthur seemed pleased with his newfound confidence, and dropped the board on the unforgiving asphalt. He placed his right foot behind the top bolts, and started off with his left. Once he got that rush of air, he experienced his first adrenalin rush in a very long time. He finally realized that all of those things that bothered him, tied him down, didn't matter anymore. This was freedom in its ultimate form, and Alfred wondered where else he could get a hit of it.

As he came back around, Arthur beamed with pride. Although he had almost fallen off the board, he was still proud. It was, finally, something else they would soon have in common. "I did pretty good, didn't I?"

Arthur nodded. _Do you want to see what I can do on that board?_

"Yes, I would," Alfred handed over the tattered skateboard. Arthur went sailing away, and executed a perfect kickflip, the other's jaw on the ground. "Well, damn." The Englishman smirked and lit up again. He offered one to Alfred. "Oh, sorry, I can't. I don't wanna get in trouble with the coach."

Kirkland sewed his brow, he never looked so pissed. He, instead, forced the drug on the athlete and lit it up for him. Alfred pretended to be happy, and that pleased him, but it was so rebellious. He hadn't ever done something so unruly, so _illicit_. His eyes dropped down to check on Arthur, as he seemed contempt with his wrong doings. Alfred, on the other hand, was nervous as fuck and feared authoritative intervention. He was grateful for the dark.

Jones's parted from the cigarette followed by a cloud of smoke. "Psh, whatever. I can do this just as good as you can," he challenged the teen, he grinned. Actually, Alfred could get used to this.

He imagined that he and Arthur could ditch school to have a smoke somewhere. It was pushed to the back of his mind; he knew it was the beginning of an unbreakable habit, but he didn't care. He was doing something that Arthur liked to do, what was he complaining about? This was perhaps the best opportunity he had to open up to him, or, at least, it _could_ be. Then again, that's what he hated the most: that something could be, but wouldn't be. It all came down to the fact that he was too afraid to try.

Alfred felt a small nudge as he went to look, Arthur was already yanking his sleeve, pulling him to sit on the ground. Their skateboards were in front of one another, the Brit's scrawny knee casually between the American's well endowed ones. The faery tale character glanced down at his phone.

 _Why are you so on edge? Is something wrong? Am I bothering you?_

"Why," Alfred began to speak, but something _was_ wrong with him. He pushed through, "Why would you think you're bothering me?"

He only gave a shrug. _It's usually the case. No one likes me._

"What're ya talkin' about! You're, like, one of the best people I know! Who wouldn't like you—" Jones immediately stopped talking. What if something happened during the game, and he was just too stupid to ask how things went? _For Christ's' sake._ He took out his cigarette and wet his lips, his eyes wrinkled, "Did any of my friends say something to you? Something that didn't seem right, or fit them?"

Arthur didn't respond, but that also meant he didn't say no. "You know, if they were being a bunch of assholes, or made you uncomfortable, you can tell me." He seemed reluctant, but eventually gave in.

 _I didn't feel welcome in your circle of friends._

"Oh, I see." Shit, _shit_. "I'm sure all they need is a talking to. They're usually pretty friendly." Arthur shrugged and turned his head to finish his cigarette, Alfred mimicked.

That night, Alfred went to sleep with his brain fried and his body reeking of Marlboro Red 100s. He washed his clothing and sheets before his mother or father could catch him the next morning.

* * *

"Alfred, you asswad!" Yao screamed at the top of his little lungs. "What the hell was that Friday night!"

Alfred sarcastically glanced around the hallways and raised his fingertips to his chest. "Was that _me_ you were talking to?"

Yao balled his fists, "Hell yeah I'm talking you! You fucked up and now we're all in for it!"

"Yeah, you definitely weren't your best," Ivan slowly approached them. "You should try clearing your mind of whatever you're thinking about during games. We're going to lose if you keep that up."

Alfred was infuriated, he could feel the tips of his ears go red. His cheeks tinted pink as he defended, "Hey, get off my case! I'm human, too! I have a life!"

Ivan and Yao made whistling noises and crossed their arms. The tallest ran his fingers through his light blond locks, "Well, you'd better get going. Wouldn't want you to fail and get kicked off the team, like you most likely will."

Alfred watched them leave, he had never been so pissed in his entire life! How dare they! He knew they were referring to Arthur, he knew it! What did they think he was, _stupid?_ This encouraged him to devote even more time with the bittersweet boy of Heaven.

When he came to English seconds before the bell rang, he quickly sat by Arthur, he smiled. "Hey, what's up?"

He shrugged. _The ceiling, the sky, perhaps._

Al cut his eyes and Arthur noiselessly giggled. "You're so full of it."

"Alright, class!" the old hag he despised interrupted. "We're going to read another Poe poem. Flip to, _A Dream Within A Dream_ , and read with your partners."

The boys did as they were told and Alfred happily obliged, "Would you like for me to read to you again?" Arthur's way of saying yes was by getting comfortable, bringing a knee up by his cheek to rest his head on. Alfred chuckled, "Oh, okay. I guess I'll take that as a yes."

He took a final stress-free breath, " _Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, thus much let me avow_ — _You are not wrong who deem that my days have been a dream."_

" _Yet, if hope had flown away in a night, or in a day in a vision, or in none. Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."_

Alfred felt nervous again, although, he had alway hated reading aloud. I was even more nerve wracking he was speaking for the lovely Arthur Kirkland. It were moments like this he he wished he had never been born, as he could not take the overwhelming embarrassment.

" _I stand amid the roar of a surf-tormented shore, and I hold within my hand grains of the golden sand_ — _How few! Yet how they creep through my fingers to the deep, while I weep_ — _while I weep!_

" _O God! Can I not grasp them with a tighter clasp? O God! Can I not save one from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?"_

Alfred finally finished, red in the face and utterly mortified. How in the hell was he not dead by now? It made him wonder: was this, this dreadful feeling, true love? If so, that would explain his current state of pleasureable torture.

"This class is so slow," he smacked his hand on the desk, the other blond flinched. "I mean, we don't do much in here."

Arthur took a fresh piece of paper from his backpack and playfully stole Ally's pencil. _And you're complaining, why?_

"You're right, I shouldn't be," he laid his head down on his folded arms. His bright blue eyes peered up at Arthur's green ones, and it made him think hard. Maybe they were destined lovers, died a million deaths and reincarnated to meet again at this very highschool. He sighed, wouldn't that be lovely? Wouldn't it be lovely if that were true?

Arthur nudged him with his elbow. Alfred was happy that he was slowly getting comfortable with him. _What's wrong? It looked like you were lost in space a second there._

"I'm fine! No need to worry!" he dismissed. "But, I was wondering…" Alfred's eyes skidded around the room. "Wanna come over again? After school?"

He nodded and flashed another deadly grin. Oh, so perfect. Al casually rubbed his nose and readjusted the septum jewlery, Arthur took an interest. He wrote on the paper again with his admirable handwriting. _I'm not sure if I ever asked you, but, when did you get that piercing?_

"Oh," Alfred gestured towards his bullring with his knuckles. "I got it done in the eighth grade. I was thirteen, I believe." Arthur bobbed his head with satisfactory, and he saw another opportunity for conversation. "Do you have any piercings?"

He complied: _Yes, I have a scoop, or a, "venom" piercing._

"That sounds different," Al played dumb. Of course he knew, he knew exactly what he was talking about, for once in his life. "What is that?"

Then, like a dream come true, Arthur Kirkland stuck his tongue out and pointed to his jewlery. "Whoa, that's so cool!" Alfred exclaimed. "When did you get it done?"

 _I was sixteen, it was a birthday present from my parents._

"Wow, your parents sounded pretty cool, huh?"

He agreed. _They used to get me anything I wanted and we never argued. Sometimes I miss them a lot._

Alfred sighed as he tried to come up with something quick and comforting. "Well, I hope they're in a better place, now." They sat in conversational agony until the taller blond brought up, "So, what do you want to do?"

Arthur smirked as he wrote with a firm hand. _I think I'd like to continue teaching you how to skateboard. I'm sure that will be fun._

"You're a liar!" Alfred laughed. "You _do_ wanna see me bust my ass!" He snorted air past his nostrils. "Don't tell me there's another reason!"

Arthur smirked again. _I brought them today._

"Them?"

 _Cigarettes. I like smoking with you._

Shivers were sent up his spine. Had he thought he actually like smoking, or the time they spent together? It was hard to tell with this boy. "Um, yeah, sure! I'm okay with that!"

 _It makes me feel comfortable being with you. It's like I can tell you anything._

Alfred perked up. Was this it? Was this, this moment in particular, the moment Arthur was finally comfortable around him? He mentally smacked himself in the face; of course he wasn't cozy around him. If he truly was, wouldn't he have decided to break from his silence already? Damn, this was killing both him and his enormous ego.

"Well, that sounds cool! I'm in!"

* * *

Alfred had barely gotten to the car before Arthur pulled out a twin pair of cigarettes, a smile etched forever on his face. Did Arthur even like to smoke, or was it just some twisted fun from torturing the athlete in complete mind control? Then again, he didn't have many other chances of getting with him, this was his only shot. Only then would more doors to a relationship would open.

Alfred accepted the cigarette and hopped into Eleanor. He clenched it with his teeth as he leaned over for Arthur to light it. His fragile, tattooed hands cupped the flame, their mouths inches apart. The sexual tension was building like a brick wall. Eleanor's engine roared as her brakes were pushed well past the school speed limit. Her tires hit the road and took the boys on the long path to nowhere. Alfred actually had no idea where he was going, but that wasn't really important. What was most important was the smoking angel in the passenger seat, the boy as sweet as candy.

The wind ran through Arthur's hair, separating each chunk into individual strands. His rose red lips only moved when parted from the cigarette, curling in the most inviting gesture. Alfred wanted to take him up on that offer, so his lips would never leave Arthur's. His hazel eyes bounced from the scenery to Alfred, and the American's sensors ceased to cooperate, his action delivery time was delayed. That, for sure, was a stare to stop all of the world in its tracks.

"So, where to?" Alfred asked, to make conversation with little time. He waited until the next stop sign to read his reply.

 _Do you have anything important to do today?_

"Um, no, nothing I can think of," he said. "Why? Is there anywhere in particular?" Arthur nodded.

 _Go to the city park. We can walk through the trails, because none of the rules apply in there._

Now, this was enticing. So that left the pair to their own demise, which sounded perfect. "Cool enough for me."

As they arrived, Arthur lead the way to the wooded area, Alfred was staggering behind. Then, like a dejavu, he turned around and grabbed the athlete's hand to direct him like a ragdoll. Alfred didn't mind, he got the perfect view of the boy, even from behind. His hair was long enough to make small movements with the wind. Alfred was a tad jealous that Arthur could look like a masterpiece every day.

The smaller boy made a final tug and quickly turned around. Alfred looked down at Arthur as he pulled out his mobile.

 _I like to come here and get lost. It's a lot more fun than it sounds._

"No, it _does_ sound like fun," he corrected. He offered his outstretched arm, "Would you like to get lost with me?" Arthur nodded, but didn't take Alfred's appendage. Instead, he took off, running deep into the forest. The quarterback went chasing after him, "Hey, what's the big idea!"

He kept running away and, in all honesty, Alfred loved it. It was so much better than him succumbing to his every whim, it was exactly what Alfred needed. He was searching everywhere to find a little adventure, but Arthur was the one way ticket to nowhere. Was this his calling for spontaneity?

When Alfred finally caught up to the English boy, he panted heavily as he analyzed his current surroundings. He spun his upper half in a three-hundred-sixty degree rotation and met nothing but endless forest. Arthur caught his attention when he lit up a cigarette and his senses tingled.

Alfred smirked as he parted his lips and Arthur blew his first puff of smoke in his face. It probably wasn't cute, but Alfred liked it, since it made him feel like he was living on the edge, or just an average day in the life of Arthur Kirkland. The bleach blond withdrew and held the drug in Alfred's mouth for him as he stole a long breath. He eventually turned the custody of it over the jock entirely and watched him breathe fire like a dragon. A smile curved his lips, in which he seemed he took enjoyment in ruining Alfred's life and good name. He was now as dirty as his breath, and it was engaging, a gateway drug to other illicit activities for fun.

"So, you convinced me to do this," Alfred spoke as he finished. "Have you finally got what you wanted?"

 _Maybe a little bit._

"Is that it?" Alfred grinned through his cigarette. Arthur broke into silent giggles. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

 _Okay, so I like to ruin your perfect prep image. It makes me a little happy._

He quirked a brow, "Then, what else do you have lined up for me?"

Arthur's grin corrupted to a smirk as he sprinted towards the other way, Alfred gingerly tossed his cigarette and followed. They ran straight through the clearing and back into the woods, which made the situation much more dangerous than it initially sounded. Though, again, Alfred didn't mind. It was crazy talk, but maybe he needed that. Christ, he hated how philosophical he could get sometimes. Philosophical and gay.

As Alfred's mind wandered further from Earth, his body was still very much on the planet's atmosphere. Gravity was not his friend as he took a leap of faith, and the Heavens not so much as supporting him as he crashed with the dirt. Sharp pain attacked his palms and knees first, his head second as his limbs couldn't support the rest of him.

" _Shit!"_ Alfred cursed out in anguish. It felt like someone had folded his ankle up to his calf, it was that bad. He attempted to pull it back, but something was playing keepaway with him. He sat up and hissed, discovered his foot was caught between an arched tree root. " _Fuck!"_

Soon after, Arthur came running back. He crouched down to inspect the situation, he patted his knees for Alfred to lean back on them. His skinny fingers ran over his cheek, which would've been nice if it wasn't for a strange, stinging sensation conquering all and any enjoyment. The immigrant leaned his head down closer to Alfred's face, he could feel his ears go hot.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "What's wrong with my face?"

Arthur pulled back and gave him his cell phone camera, front view. He gently released him back onto the ground and he crawled to the athlete's foot. Arthur retrieved a mysterious Swiss Army knife from his back pocket and frantically sawed at the root, making occasional grunting noises the more he panicked. Once his limb was freed, Alfred tried to get back on his feet, but soon found that to be impossible.

" _Fucking Hell!"_ the American let out a loud cry of pain. Perhaps this was more serious than he first considered. Arthur slid back up to his head and typed into his mobile.

 _I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to cause all of this! I should've thought this out thoroughly!_

"You're… fine," Alfred managed through his agony. The pain was almost unbearable. Arthur went to his cell again.

 _Tell me where it hurts. I can take you to a hospital._

"It-It's just my ankle, probably a cramp," he reassured through a white lie. Though, he couldn't deceive the teen any longer, as a wave of piercing misery knocked down his bad boy persona. Alfred gripped Arthur's upper arm tightly as he slammed his back on the soil and let out another howl. It seemed to break the other blond's heart.

 _You need to go to the ER. I'll help you back to the car and take you there myself._

That was an argument that stood alone, since Alfred was incapable to disagree. Arthur threw his arm over his petite shoulders, so that he could keep as much pressure off his right foot as possible. Slowly but surely, they hobbled back to vehicle, and as Arthur strapped himself in the driver's seat of Alfred's beloved Eleanor, he looked pasty pale and nervous as all Hell. Terrified, he stuck the key into the ignition and let the engine roar for a moment. Alfred took notice from the passenger side.

"Here," he leaned over, "do you want me to drive us there?"

He shook his head, his lips pursed in frustration. _I got you into this mess, I'm going to get you out of it._

"Okay then."

* * *

Alfred flicked his eyelids until the ceiling above him was somewhat visible. He turned his head to inspect the strange room, blinded by the fluorescent lighting. Where the hell was he? His eyes panned down and came upon the missing Arthur, his upper half lying on the bed, the other seated in a chair. His bleach head was resting upon his arms, which were atop of Alfred's legs. He smiled as he lightly shook the boy awake. Arthur's beautiful green eyes looked something from a faerytale, they were so unreal.

He desperately searched for his cell phone to begin unusual conversation. _Ally, you're awake! How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?_

"No, no, I'm fine," he consoled the other's worries. "But, where are we?"

 _The hospital. I drove us here, you fell asleep on the car ride._

"Oh," he mumbled. "What happened, exactly?" The boy took a long time to explain, something Alfred didn't want to hear at the moment.

 _You messed up your ankle, it got caught in a tree root. On your fall down, it was most likely a branch that scratched the side of your face._

Alfred immediately ran his fingers on his cheek and, just like the Brit had told him, there was a considerably long gash, starting from his temple to his cheekbone. But that was the least of his concerns; what the hell was he going to do for football? It was bad enough that he blew off practice and lost the first game of the season just because he met someone new, and spent a little too much time invested in him.

He looked back at Arthur, "How long have you been here? What time is it?"

 _About midnight. It's 4 in the morning._

"Whoa, holy shit! I didn't mean to keep you here this long!" Arthur shook his head as Alfred cocked his. "Aren't you tired? Don't you want to go home?"

He disagreed. _I put you here, it's all because of me._

"No, it's not, Artie," he added the nickname to help lessen the burden. "I just had an accident, it's wasn't anyone's fault." He smiled nervously; what more could he say to make Arthur feel better? Alfred scoffed lightheartedly, "When do you think they'll let me outta here, eh?"

 _When the doctor comes back. She's going to assess you a final time and you'll be able to go home._

"Speaking of home," he hitched his voice, "do my parents know I'm here?" Arthur denied it.

 _I texted your sister and she brought all of your paperwork. I figured you wouldn't want them to know about what we did._

He sighed, "You know me so well."

Then, Alfred's sister, Madeline, walked in. She smiled, "How're ya holding up, Alfie?"

"Well," he scoffed. "Better than I thought I'd be. Sorry for dragging you here, little sis."

Her laugh hitched, "You're lucky I don't rat your ass out." Maddie sat at the end of the bed and asked, "So, what happened, exactly?"

His eyes shot over to Arthur's nervous ones, telepathically coming up with a believable excuse. "We were just hangin' out outside and I tripped. Onto the road. And landed on my ankle."

"Uh, huh." _Shit_ , she wasn't buying it. "But I guess I won't tell ma and pa what you've been doing. Let this be your first warning."

"Thanks sis!"

Madeline left the room, but quickly stuck her head back in to add, "Oh, and I if I were you, I'd clean up before coming home. Wouldn't want the entire house smelling like cigarettes."

Both boys went red in the face as she left for good. Arthur texted a reply as quick as a whip. _I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to get you in trouble!_

"No, Maddie wouldn't tell," Alfred assured. He flashed back to when he confided his darkest secret to her, "She wouldn't tell for anything in the world."

Arthur seemed confused, just as he should've been. He wasn't ready to tell him, it was way too early to even solidate these feelings. Yet, when grass green stared back into sky blue, it was like everything was okay. Alfred could tell him anything and everything, since it did not even feel like real life. No consequence or punishment could bring down his higher than God confidence.

"Hey, Arthur," he got the English boy's attention rather quickly. He studied his alertness, as if Alfred was the most important thing in the world to him at the time. "There's somethin' I wanna tell you." The other blond leaned closer. "I wanna tell you that—"

"Mr. Jones?" a woman quietly knocked on the door. Arthur stood up and motioned his hands, speaking in sign language again. She recited it back to him, then turned to the teen in question. "So we got your x-rays back and it looks like you managed only a sprain. Consider yourself lucky, you could've been seriously injured."

Alfred only nodded, he hadn't the slightest clue what she was talking about. Everything after the car ride to the hospital was a blur, he only knew what Arthur had told him. "Your friend here told me you play football. Don't worry, you should be all healed up in enough time, so you won't miss much of practice."

He shook his head like the obedient dog he was. It was just really late, it was hard to keep his eyes open. Arthur made more silent conversation and the doctor left. He bent over to help Alfred up and on his feet and they were out of there as fast as they could. They reached the car and he laid Alfred in the backseat.

The American grunted as he tried to sit up, "Wait, how're we gonna get home? You still need a ride back, don't you?"

He nodded. _You're right, I hadn't thought of that._

With much hesitation and fear for rejection, Alfred finally decided to ask, "Do you want to spend the night at my house?" Arthur looked through the driver's mirror, and smiled as genuinely as smiles came.

After that, Alfred couldn't remember much of what happened, he couldn't even recall falling asleep, just staring at the illuminated stars the entire time home. How the shone for them, reflecting passion and fury. How they shone just for them, nobody else could see just how bright they lit the way.

* * *

 _AN: And I finally finished chapter five, it's a Christmas miracle! Yeah, I was writing chapter five and six simultaneously, I assure you I am not dead. But the next update should be much faster, as most of it is already finished. Until then! And I hope you have a merry Christmas!_


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred woke up, his eyes fluttered themselves awake. He sat up and looked around the room. Odd. His foot stuck out like a sore thumb as he noticed something was wrong. Then, last night came to him in a flick of the light switch. After all of the things he had put Arthur through, where was he now?

The blond jumped out of bed, and on the wrong foot. He clashed the heel of his right foot on the hardwood and took a long fall. He sucked air past his molars and settled for the bed once again. His fingers combed the sheets for his cell phone.

 _Hey, Artie! Where r u?_

Almost immediately, he responded: _Home. Are you feeling better today?_

 _Yeah, but I don't remember most of last nite lol. Can u help me fill in the blanks?_

 _You mean to tell me you don't remember kicking me half to death? You're a really heavy sleeper haha. But, in your defense, you were pretty out of it from the pain killers._

Alfred quirked a brow. Shit, shit, _shit_. How could he have been so stupid? He had one shot at a moment like Arthur described to him, and he was running on pure insomnia and medication? Leave it to him to screw things up.

 _Wdym? I'm confused!_

 _I helped you upstairs and I was going to go home, but you wanted me to stay for a little bit. So I laid in bed with you until you fell asleep. I only left because you were hurting me so bad haha._

Alfred apologized faster than he realized he ever could. _I'm so so sooo sorry! I'll make it up to u anyway I can!_

 _That's fine, I'll take it as payback for what I did._

Alfred wanted to argue back, but there was no point with him. He should've known that by now, at least. _Wait, wdym ur not here? Did u get a ride?_

 _No, I walked._

 _Artie! I would've driven u home ur in trouble!_

 _It's not that big of a deal. Now I'm in trouble?_

 _Well, yeah!_

 _What am I, then? Grounded?_

 _Yeah, u r! So stay in ur room!_

 _Whatever, Ally._

Alfred finally got out of bed as he saw their conversation seemed satisfactory. He limped downstairs to discover an empty house, so he was alone in his own misery. Fantastic. But wasn't that just like his life? For people to come and go? For fucks' sake, he just needed a parent all of the damn time to monitor his childish antics. The teen staggered to the coffee pot to make himself breakfast, and in such agony. Was there some kind of medication he was supposed to be taking? Since those pain killers he was allegedly taking wore off by now.

As he sipped his morning beverage, Alfred nearly choked when he glanced out of the window. He ran as fast and painfully as he could to the front door. There he was, Arthur Kirkland had came all the way from his house on only his skateboard and free will, God only knows how long he'd been riding for. He slowed to a stop and jogged up to the front porch.

"Artie!" Alfred exclaimed. "What're you doin' here!"

Arthur grinned and let himself inside, the wind severely tousled his bleach blond locks. His lips were cracked and chapped, and yet, Alfred still wanted to kiss them. But temptation had no place in this conversation. He pulled out a brown paper bag from his hoodie pocket and presented the contents.

"Pain killers?" Alfred asked, and the other nodded.

 _Last night, the doctor prescribed some medicine. Your injury isn't that bad, but at least they gave you something to deal with the pain._

"Yeah, and thanks again for last night," he began to express his gratefulness. "You're a good friend for doing that."

Arthur smirked triumphantly as he dug for the Rx bottle. _Take these everyday, it'll help you._

Alfred nodded. "So you came all the way over here to babysit me?" He agreed. "But I don't have to take them now, do I?"

 _The doctor said two in the morning and two before bedtime._

"That's a load of bullshit," he snorted. Arthur crossed his arms. "I hate swallowing pills!"

 _Is it because you can't?_

"Honestly, yeah," he admitted, feeling defeated.

Arthur smirked. _You're such a little girl, Ally._

"Hey!" Alfred sucked his teeth. "I find that offensive, young man!"

He straightened his brow and planted his hands on his angled hips suggestively. That smirk written all over his face was smitten to say, "and what're you going to do about it?" Oh, that boy! How he drove him fucking insane!

"Well, does today count?" Alfred pulled his head out of his ass. "Like, can't I just start them tomorrow, or something?" Arthur shook his head. "Too bad! 'Cause you can't make me!"

Arthur shrugged and walked as calmly into the kitchen as he possibly could. He retrieved a plain glass and filled it with tap water. Reaching into the bag, he emptied the Rx bottle of two pain killers and set them aside especially for Alfred. He politely handed both items to the taller one, with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Fine! I'll listen!" Ally snatched the pills. Then, in one nervous gulp, he swallowed all the pills. Arthur smirked haughtily at him with crossed arms and a "I told you so" expression. He sputtered in response, "Shut up!"

Arthur shrugged and drifted off to other parts of the house, Alfred nearly pissing himself wondering what the boy was doing. He followed him and asked, "Hey, what's the big idea?"

The British teen did not respond, but rather kept wandering around the house. He bounced up the stairs with Al worriedly chasing after him as best as he could, limping with his bum ankle. Arthur approached the American's bedroom door and darted his eyes mischievously behind him before entering without permission. He plopped down on the bed and its owner took offense.

"Hey, who told you that you could come in here and do whatever you wanted?" Alfred put his hands on his hips. Arthur stuck out his tongue, his piercing displayed proudly and, in all honestly, it was kind of cute.

The teenager pulled out his cell phone and had begun playing on that instead of listening to Alfred, like usual, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Al sat by his feet and tried to play it cool, though he was sweating pools. Thankfully, Arthur displayed his mutual comfortability by resting his legs on Alfred's lap. It was nice; and he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Alfred sighed as he rolled his heel on the floor, the injured remained stationary. His pencil tapped the table as his eyes stalked the clock. What was this numb tingling feeling in his fingertips, the churning of his stomach? It was just a stupid bell, surely it wasn't the reason why he was so shaken up. Arthur, on the other hand, could've damn well been a suspect. The football star decided to write some song lyrics to pass the time and soothe his anxiety.

" _Don't make me sad, don't make me cry. Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough, I don't know why. Keep making me laugh, let's go get high. The road is long, we carry on, try to have fun in the meantime."_

Dammit, it was just like Arthur to have complete control over him and his interests. Maybe it was his hippie lifestyle that made Alfred so jealous, but the music calmed him, at least.

" _Come and take a walk on the wild side, let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, you like your guys insane. Choose your last words, this is the last time. 'Cause you and I, we were born to die."_

The bell unexpectedly rang, so Alfred crumpled the paper and stuffed in the bottom on his bookbag. When he arrived in English class, he was not at all prepared to face Arthur's mysterious absence. Odd, since the jock had driven the teen to school, why wouldn't he be in class? Unless…

 _Shit, he doesn't want to be around me,_ Alfred thought. He gave himself a good metaphorical smack to the face and pulled himself together. Arthur wouldn't have done something like that, he would at least have a thought out excuse, right?

"Are you going to take a seat or just stand around?" the teacher called him out. The student did as he was told and she continued their lesson. But Alfred couldn't concentrate, he was still absorbed in Arthur's vacancy.

Just then, a strange girl ran up to the empty seat beside Alfred's: Arthur's chair. He raised a brow as she greeted, "Hello, Alfred!" He remained silent, so she worriedly introduced, "Oh, I'm Lin! You know, Yao's friend!"

To be honest, Alfred had no fucking clue who she was. He had never seen her before, maybe once or twice on the field after practice? Her identity was completely foreign to him. "Oh, yeah! I know who you are!"

Lin's cheeks reddened and her shoulders rose to her earlobes, kind of like how Arthur did sometimes. "I'm so sorry, I'm such a mess! It's just, I see you on the football field and I've always wanted to talk to you, I just didn't know how!"

"Ah, well, I guess you are, now."

She giggled, "You're really funny!"

Alfred raised his eyebrows: how the hell was that even funny? Maybe he wasn't used to this much attention, but she came off a bit strong. "I don't think I've ever seen you at practice. Or, at least, Yao hasn't mentioned you."

"Well, he's a bit of a douchebag," she pushed her long, brunette locks off her shoulder. The clean breeze created smelled strongly of his mother's shampoo. Not sure how that would coax him into a relationship. "I'd say most of the guys here are a little selfish." Lin gazed up at him like Arthur would, her earthy brown eyes didn't take themselves off his face. "But, you're not like them. You seem really nice, which sets you apart from the rest of the boys."

Sure, _that_ was what set him apart from the other boys. Would he forget the sing song taunts from elementary school about his accidental romance with another boy? Would he forget the cruel things said about him on the field behind his back, that he was queer, a force not to be reckoned with? Did she really think he would melt into a puddle as soon as she had said that? Sure, he was going to drop any and all worries about his sexuality, a possible new life with a boy he really wanted, for a girl he didn't really care about. Good God, he needed Arthur by his side, to keep everything in order, to keep him sane. Oh, where was that boy when he needed him?

"I hope you don't mind," Lin brought his attention back on Earth. "I'm just gonna sit here for just this class. I don't think that other kid is here today."

"What makes you say that?" Alfred snapped at her, surprising himself as much as he did her.

"Well," she bit her black nail polish off her fingernails. "I just didn't see him today. And there's really no one he talks to, so who would even know? I just assumed he was gone."

 _Gone_ , that word nearly killed Jones. Why did it, though? Gone was a heavy term and, to him, it meant to be lost to the point of no return. But Arthur was coming back again. He was going to make sure of that. Alfred got up and left the conversation, "Sorry, I just realized I gotta be somewhere. It was nice talking to you!"

Lin waved goodbye, dumbfoundedly. He gave a lazy excuse to the teacher and she surprisingly accepted it. Alfred ran down the hallways as fast as his bum ankle would allow him, looking into every corridor in hopes to find his missing friend. As he passed a men's bathroom, he paused. Alfred wondered if it, being the last place he looked, was Arthur's hideaway.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought, pushing the door open. What he was greeted with was a powerful cloud of smoke, which gagged him and gave away his secret entrance. A figure came rushing to the exit and began to knock him out of the bathroom, only to find out the strangers knew each other. Arthur's tired eyes rolled as he snatched Alfred by the shirt and slammed the door behind him.

As the Englishman strutted to the sinks, the American asked, "What're ya doin' here! I was looking for you in class earlier!"

Arthur turned around and slowly approached the taller teenager. With his cigarette hanging loosely from the corners of his lips, he blew his current breath of smoke in the jock's face. Most people would think that it was disrespectful but, honestly, Alfred thought it was kind of a turn on. It was so edgy and dangerous, the perfect indie romance he had dreamt of since he had met the immigrant.

"Why did you leave class?" he tried to sway his thoughts from his "other" head. "Or did you just not want to come?"

Arthur looked a little melancholy as he typed his response. _Nothing happened, I just felt like playing hooky._

"Okay, then," Alfred dropped his bag and stood by his side. "Mind if I join?"

He smiled viciously as he rummaged through his own school things for his pack of cigarettes. Practicing the usual ritual of lighting up for him, Arthur seemed pleased with the good boy's bad decisions. As a matter of fact, Alfred couldn't recall a time when he smiled more than at that moment. It was heartwarming to find the other so comforted, like he was finally the hero of something. Alfred wanted to be Arthur's hero, but to save him from what?

"So, is there something you're not telling me?" he asked out of the blue. Arthur shook his head. "Nah, I know you're trying to hide something."

 _What makes you think that?_

His lips curled as he removed his cigarette, "I can see right through you. You know you're not a good liar, right?" Kirkland crossed his arms as Jones egged on, "Oh, c'mon! After all we've been through? You can tell me anything!"

He loosened his posture, but only to watch himself smoke in the mirror. Alfred was tempted to get to the bottom of it, because, what if something was really bothering him? And the unknown long term consequences? He couldn't bear to think of the possibilities.

"Tell me, tell me!" Alfred gave his shoulder a friendly shove to lessen the load. Then, Arthur pulled out his mobile.

 _But you promise you won't get mad? No matter what I tell you?_

He dragged his finger over his chest, "Cross my heart and hope to die! Now, tell me!"

 _I've had a pretty stressful few weeks, if you've noticed._

"How stressful?" he asked to keep the tension at bay.

 _Pretty stressful._

"This sounds serious," Alfred ironically claimed, straightening his posture. He lightheartedly rapped his knuckles on the other boy's skull. "What's been happening in that pretty little head of yours?"

Although he was grinning, Arthur responded bleakly: _I've been having problems with a few people here. And I've heard some interesting things during my stay._

Shit. _Double_ shit. _Fucking_ _hell_. That was that, the deed was done. Alfred's secret was no more. "What've you heard? Who's been bothering you?"

 _Well, I wouldn't go so far as to call it "bothering", but rather getting dirty looks. And the things that have been going around the school are about you, mostly._

Goddammit, it was bound to happen, but Alfred didn't think it would happen this soon. He had been living on cloud nine, being around Arthur. Then reality set in, and everything began falling from beneath his feet. "Are those people my friends?"

Arthur nodded. _I told you they don't like me, but I think I know why now._

"Go ahead," Alfred sighed, praying for the best. But not even God could save him now, so what was the fucking point anymore? "Say it."

 _People are spreading rumors that you're not straight. I heard your friends talking about it at the game._

There it was, that one line that haunted him since elementary school. He couldn't argue, since it was true, but it still stung. It was just the wording that made it hurt more than anything, and the impression people had on him.

"Well, I can't say they aren't true," Alfred seethed his courage. In a single breath, he revealed to him his darkest secret. Now, nothing would be the same ever again. "I'm gay."

There wasn't much of a reaction on Arthur's part, but he decided to continue. "I've never told anyone other than you and Maddie. But everyone else seems to be catching on. I chose not to tell anyone because I'm kinda scared to hear what they'll say, especially my friends."

Arthur exhaled as he provided: _Have you ever dated a girl? Do you think that would set the rumors straight?_

Oh _God_ , were Alfred's worst fears just realized? Was the potential love of his life actually straight? There went his incarnated Romeo and Juliet theory. But, when he received the next text from Juliet, he was pleasantly surprised. He shook his head, "My heart would never be into it."

 _Oh, because that's what I had to do when I lived in London. The other kids used to call me a faggot, and things like that. Little did they know it was true, it just didn't bother me anymore._

Alfred's heart didn't skip a beat, but stopped pumping at once. So Arthur, the most beautiful and sophisticated teen, was _gay?_ Arthur Kirkland, the mysterious Arthur Kirkland, the cool kid on the block everybody wanted to be, was just like Alfred F. Jones? How could he, as distant from reality as he was, the boy who lived on the moon, the one everyone looked up to, so relatable? Alfred exhaled slowly to stall a reply.

"Well, I'm glad you told me," he flicked the butt in the trash can. "So I guess this means we're in this together, huh?" Arthur nodded. "But no matter what I tell you, you promise it won't make you think any different of me?"

The Brit agreed. _We'll figure things out together, we'll get through this._

Maybe because Alfred was a very sentimental person, but he took that sentence in particular to heart and, if he was lucky, it would die along with the other promises he ever made.

* * *

Shit, _shit._ Alfred was in deep shit, he knew it. He slowly walked around the hallway once more before heading in the cafeteria to face his fears. There, he slyly took his spot at his usual lunch table with his same old friends. A sigh escaped his lips; so, this was life? His individual, "unique" life? Because it seemed pretty boring.

"What's up, Jones!" Gilbert tossed a plastic spoon his way. Alfred caught it mid-air and threw it back with a little more passion. The fair haired boy looked impressed at the silverware and back at the pitcher. "Nice."

"I try," Alfred sat his things on the table. He faced the rest of the group, "So, what're you guys up to?"

"Waiting for _your_ pansy ass!" Elizabeth light heartedly joked, though, there was a tinge of seriousness in her tone of voice. Alfred's weaker side secretly took offense.

"Oh, well, I'm here!"

"By the way," Francis broke his eerie silence, "mind if we ask you a few questions?"

Fuck, this was it, the end of Alfred F. Jones. His reputation was to be ruined, his self esteem gone forever. All his friends would gang up on him to ask him questions, _the_ question. There would be no way to escape, just a yes or no answer. He braced himself, and said goodbye to the comfortable life he used to live in secrecy.

"So, Maddie said you broke your foot," the French student continued, Alfred's heart went from a hundred beats a minutes to absolutely nothing. "Is she over exaggerating, as usual?"

Well, fuck. "Uh, um, yeah. I only sprained my ankle."

"How?" Gilbert asked.

He blurted the first little white lie that came to mind, "I fell out of Eleanor and my ankle got caught in the door frame."

The entourage shrugged it off and proceeded with lunch period as normal. Yet he couldn't help but to think, to imagine, his only close friends saying things about him behind his back. It made him paranoid; what other things were they talking about, theorizing? Were they plotting against him, perhaps because his social life was a little boring at this time?

When the period ended, Alfred moped to next class without much hope for the rest of the day. Alleged rumors of his questionable sexuality was his ultimate weakness. That and Arthur. Damn, that boy could be enough to knock the wind out of him, sometimes. Alfred walked into English class and, just like yesterday, Arthur wasn't there. Instead, there was long haired, tanned skinned Lin. She waved for him to take a seat.

"Hey, Lin," he greeted less than enthusiastically. At least _she_ was still happy to see him.

Lin beamed, "Hi, Alfie! How are you?"

 _Miserable, tired, at a crossroads in life._ "Just fine. How about you?"

"I'm doing really good, thanks!"

The instructor called upon her students' attention and they started their assignments for the day. Though, Alfred wasn't really feeling it. Arthur had bothered him too much, he felt like he needed to play superhero to his damsel. What if he actually was in danger? What if he need Alfred's help right now, and he was too scared to find him? He decided that classwork wouldn't help him much, so he wrote down song lyrics, as usual.

" _It's you, it's you, it's all for you, everything I do. I tell you all the time, Heaven is a place on Earth with you. Tell me all the things you wanna do. I heard that you like the bad guys, honey, is that true?"_

"Whatcha writing, there?" Lin stuck her nose in his business.

Frightened, Alfred snatched the paper back and lied, "Nothin' to worry 'bout! School work!" She blew it off, so he continued.

" _It's better than I ever even knew. They say that the world was built for two, only worth living if somebody is loving you. Baby, now you do."_

Alfred took occasional glances from his paper to the board and deduced today was not one of those days where he would get everything done. He had Arthur to thank for that. The quarterback raised his hand and asked, "Can I go to the bathroom?"

"Whatever, Alfred," the teacher permitted.

Alfred shot up with his belongings and made way for the door. He ran down the hallway for the bathroom but, what he found in there, were a few classmates, none of which were the one he was searching for. The door slammed closed and he ran for another hiding spot. Where else could he be?

Jones flew up the staircase, biting his bottom lip through the pain. He nearly broke the handle as he threw open the door. There, much to his relief, Arthur was smoking a cigarette. It felt like a weight was lifted off his bruised shoulders.

"Artie!" Alfred greeted as he slowly approached him. "What're you doing here?"

 _What does it look like?_

"Uh, I see you're smoking again," Alfred's tone of voice was weak after Arthur's lashing. The boy looked tired and worn out as he exhaled.

 _I smoke when I'm stressed._

"More bullshit, huh?" he asked, walking over to an empty desk and taking a seat, Arthur nodded.

 _These people are hard on me. I'm not enjoying living here. Sometimes I wonder why I thought it was a good idea to even come out here._

Alfred tucked his chin behind his knees. "Well, why did you move here in the first place?" Arthur gave him an offended glare. "I mean, I know your parents died. But couldn't you have stayed in school over there?"

He shook his head. _My new guardians were the only people that would take me in. I had no other choice._

"What do you mean? I'm sure lots of people would love to have you as a son." _I would love to have you in my life,_ Alfred thought.

 _I'm not like a regular foster rat. I'm a bad person. How many people would take in a troublemaker like me, and live with that guilt when I'm bound screw up?_

"What do you mean you're gonna screw up?" Arthur didn't respond. "Because, you seem like a pretty okay person to me."

 _Life is complicated, I don't think you'd understand._

"I've had my fair share of hardships, believe me," he tried to level the depressing atmosphere as he mildly chuckled. "Because I never thought I'd ever live to see today." Arthur looked over at him with an expression Alfred had never ever seen, mixed with curiosity and empathy. The boy typed furiously.

 _What do you mean?_

"Well," Alfred had gotten himself in some deep shit. Now there was not escaping his haunting secret. "I always thought, in middle school and early highschool, I would never live to see graduation."

Arthur looked more empathetic than ever. _By that you mean…?_

Alfred released a deep breath, "When everyone used to pick on me, back when it was really bad, I thought I would have killed myself by now. But, here I am."

 _Then I feel obligated to tell you something, as well._

"Oh really?" he swung his feet off the desk to open his posture.

 _I've had the same thing happen to me. When I didn't respond to the gay rumors, it was around the time my parents died, and I changed. They used to call me faggot, whitey, whatever._

Alfred was sure he heard his heart break into a million little pieces. Arthur was the only person who could build him up and break him down quite like that. "Go on."

 _I was used to being the most hated person in school, but that didn't stop them from bullying me. I still don't know why people don't like me, I guess it was just second nature._

"That's actually how it is here, for me," Ally tried to keep his voice low. After all, what he had been talking about was only heard by Arthur, not even Madeline knew this much. "I'm always on a sports team, to take my mind off some things. But people have still dragged it on. I can't dress with the other guys anymore, that made the rumors worse."

When he looked over, Alfred was pleasantly surprised to find Arthur absorbed in the conversation. It was comforting enough to keep going. "I've never told anyone but you. I feel like I should tell my parents, but it would kill them!"

Arthur nodded. _I've disregarded my foster parents. If I don't have to live with them for much longer, then why should I tell them anything, make them feel anything for me? Especially my homophobic foster father?_

"Mm, I don't have daddy issues," he joked. Arthur bit his tongue and punched him in the arm, without much success. "Alright, I'm just messin' with ya!"

 _Wow, I really do appreciate how honest you're being with me here. I just assumed that since you're such a prep that you have the perfect life._

"Yeah, that's what everybody seems to think. But I can't tell them, because I know they won't understand. Or they'll call me a liar, either or."

Arthur looked up at him with his hazel eyes, how they sparkled just for him. _Well, I understand you. And now I suppose you understand me a little better, too._

"Yeah, I think I do." Alfred chuckled, "I mean, you had to drive me all over God's creation the other night. I should at least have a listen to what you say. You risked a lot for me."

 _Not that much, maybe a few traffic violations._

He pursed his lips and giggled, "What're you saying? You got Eleanor in trouble, did you?"

Arthur shook his head. _I lost my license a few months ago, I was lucky I didn't get us pulled over that night._

"How come? What did you do?"

 _Since my parents' accident, I have had a few problems surface. As of one month after their death, I was labeled too mentally ill to drive, so they took my license away._

Shit, Alfred had forgotten that. He had his suspicions in the past, researching every symptom Arthur had, but he gave up in the long run. He was wary of any complications there might have been and yet, he still didn't care. All Alfred wanted was Arthur, no matter how many strings were attached. The more he talked to the teen, however, erased all worries and common sense he had.

"Oh, I see," he tried to keep the aspect light. "It's like I forget sometimes."

 _It's not your fault. It must be hard for someone like you to try to be friends with someone like me._

"But it must be harder on you. I'm perfectly fine, you aren't." Honestly, Jones surprised himself with that one. Would this be the moment he would tell everything he wanted to say, relieve his heavy heart? "I'm concerned for you, you know? You being mute can't be healthy."

 _Do you want to know something about me? That no one else knows?_

"Of course."

 _I bottle up everything until I can't take it anymore. I've tried other coping mechanisms from therapy and other useless advice, but nothing works. I guess it's just how I am._

"So, what exactly are you bottling up now?" Alfred loosened his collar, the temperature grew drastically.

 _My parents' death. Have you ever lived with the thought that no one will love you as much as you were loved by someone else before? That the only people who ever cared about you are no longer in your life?_

"That's not true," Alfred brought his chin to his knees again. He mumbled, " _I_ still care about you." Arthur seemed like this was so unexpected, but, at least he knew of his opinions. "You're really nice, I don't see why people wouldn't like you."

 _I'm mute, I can't say anything back. They can say whatever to or about me and there's nothing I can do. That's why they target me. I'm too easy._

Despite it sounding completely inhumane, it was the sick, twisted truth. The world would chew up and spit out Arthur Kirkland if he continued to behave as such, which Alfred knew was a lie. He had never seen him acting otherwise, but he had a sinking feeling Arthur was a strong willed person. The person he was now was someone he was only pretending to be.

 _I feel like you don't relate,_ he replied. Alfred denied it.

"No, I understand what it's like to be an outcast. I just don't let other people know how I feel. Other than you, no one else can know."

He seemed to reconcile within himself, and that was relief on Alfred's part. Throughout the rest of the period, they talked more about life which, contrary to the student body's belief, was one of the jock's favorite subjects of conversation. Alfred wasn't happy that he missed even more work in English, but he was satisfied he didn't attend class that day. If he hadn't, he and Arthur would've never bonded this much, and he was in no position to give up friends.

"Hey, do you have something important to do when you get home today?" he asked. The Englishman shook his head. "Do you wanna do something later?"

 _Like, instead of taking me home, go somewhere and have fun?_

He shrugged, "More or less."

Alfred was blinded by his pearly white smile. _Count me in._

"How does coffee sound?" he tried to keep it casual, but enough to get his point across. Thankfully, the other agreed.

When the last bell of the day rang, the boys grabbed their things and ran out the back of the school in order to remain unseen. Alfred hopped in Eleanor and revved her engine, her tires spun for a split second as he took her out of park and into drive. They rode at incredible speeds, wind ripping through the athletic one's white t-shirt and the other's bleached locks. Arthur began to insert the Arctic Monkeys CD and put it on blast.

" _What's been happening in your world? What have you been up to? I heard you fell in love, or near enough. I gotta tell you the truth…"_

Alfred felt the moment was right as he sang along, " _I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby. Snap out of it! I get the feeling I left it too late, but, baby, snap out of it! If that watch don't continue to swing or the fat lady fancies having a sing, I'll be here waiting ever so patiently for you to snap out of it!"_

Arthur jerked his head around and smiled. He sent: _You're really good at singing! I never thought you of all people to have a voice like that!_

"Yeah, well," he tried to hide his flustering features. "I try not to tell that around certain people."

 _Have you ever thought of joining a chorus? You'd be so great!_

"Yeah, I have. But I can't let the other guys know I'm into stuff like that. I'd never hear the end of it!" Arthur nodded as his eyes locked on the road in front of them. Alfred, however, was still curious. "Have you ever joined a school activity, or something?"

 _Yes. I used to be in the marching band drum line. I actually made drum major in my final year._

The perfect romance! The star quarterback falls in love with the drum major, how dreamy! Their love tucked away from others, only expressed in a few passionate kisses under the bleachers at half time. "That sounds awesome! Did you have to quit because you moved?"

 _I wrecked my back in the accident : ( I couldn't march anymore._

Shit, there Alfred went, acting oblivious as usual. He was aware of that, how could he have been so stupid? "Right, right. I knew that!" Awkward silence filled the space filled the vehicle. Thankfully, the roof was off. "So, do you even like coffee?"

Arthur shook his head. _I just didn't want to go home. Anything is fine with me, really._

"Well, you'll have to give me directions, if you'd like to go somewhere else. I don't know how to have fun!"

He took his time replying: _I haven't been to a cafe in a very long time. I would still love to go._

"Sounds good to me."

* * *

Arthur's feet swung from the high stool, a smile on his face as he kicked Alfred in the shin. Repeatedly. For the entire five minutes they'd been sitting down. But he didn't care, then again, that grin wiped away any doubt. He would endure it just to keep that happy aspect on the other blond's face for as long as he could.

"So, do you like your coffee?" Alfred asked as he sipped his own. Arthur shrugged. "What? Are you too good for coffee, now?"

Kirkland nodded, but didn't reply. Instead, he fished a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels from his bookbag. To the other's disbelief, Arthur proceeded to dump a considerable amount into his coffee cup. Alfred stuttered, "Are you serious! Are you trying to spike your coffee or get drunk off your ass!"

Arthur tested it, but scrunched his nose in distaste. The American exclaimed triumphantly, "See? What did I tell you?" The British boy alternatively drank straight from the bottle and all Alfred could do was watch in awe. "How are you able to do that! Is that even legal!"

Arthur paused his drinking abruptly and silently choked. He sent a message: _What if I told you I was a raging alcoholic? Would that change your mind about me, make you say something else?_

"Yeah, it would," Alfred concurred. He shook his head and reprimanded, "Put that away before you get caught!"

It was like Arthur got high off of making the goody two shoes into a bad boy. But, if bad boy was what he was into, then bad boy was what Alfred would be. He slammed the bottle down to end the dramatic silence. "Damn, that's amazing. Now I see why you do it so much." Arthur looked indifferent, leading Alfred to ask, "But you're not really an alcoholic, are you?"

Arthur did not respond, but rather drank his coffee to fill the silence. Alfred continued with the hope that he was joking. "So, you wanna do anything else? Go anyplace else?"

He pondered upon it until he replied: _Do you have anyone waiting on you?_

Alfred shook his head like a wet dog. "Nope! What do you have planned?"

 _I wanted to show a few things, but we'd have to go my house. Is that okay with you?_

Oh God, this was perfection! Absolute Heaven! Was Alfred even still breathing? It was too much, his heavy heart couldn't hold up for much longer! "Yeah, I've got nothing to do. That sounds like fun."

The entire way home was silent, the wind whipping through their hair. As they arrived at the Kirkland resident, it seemed familiar to Alfred. No other cars were in the driveway other than Eleanor and the old Hearse. Arthur led the way and unlocked the front door with slight difficulty. Alfred could only stare as the other bent over to inspect the knob, much to his reluctance, he couldn't help those types of thoughts.

The bleach blond threw open the door and discarded his school things, shoes included. Alfred mimicked for lack of household manners. Arthur glanced over his shoulder with a look in his eye that said, "come hither." So, naturally, Alfred obeyed.

"So what was it ya wanted to show me?" he followed blindly. The boys approached a bedroom door, Alfred could hardly contain his excitement. Arthur released the handle and behold; his perfectly messy room. It was nice, mostly due to the fact that it belonged to the immigrant, that was all that mattered to Al.

He smiled as he took the time to explain. _I wanted to show you my room. I can be such a teenage girl, sometimes._

Alfred shrugged as he scanned the entire room. "No, I feel you. I'm like that, too." He scoffed, then chuckled, "This room is so much better than mine! It's cooler than _I_ am!"

Arthur glanced around the old vinyl records nailed to the wall, hanging amongst the countless skateboards. There were a few potted plants, they looked like the same species of roses in varying shades of pink. Alfred wandered over to the desk to examine them.

"What're these?" he prodded at the flowers. Arthur walked slowly, romantically, to analyze the plant.

 _They're called "Abraham Darby" roses. They're my favourite flowers._

"Really, now?" Alfred played it off, like it didn't matter. Although, surely, it would matter in the future, he would count on it. "You like gardening?"

 _Yes, it's calming. It's like they are my friends, because they don't talk back._

"That, that's true, I guess." Alfred's adventurous hands discovered a plain mason jar. He picked it up for further inspection and asked, "What's this?"

As Alfred was going to read one of the little pieces of paper inside it, Arthur took it away just as fast. Normally, he would have been offended, but it was like he understood the other's issue with the jar. Though, he still needed answers. "What's wrong with it? Can't I read some of those?"

Arthur shook his head. _This is just my jar, I can't let you see it._

"Why not?" Alfred egged on, against his better judgement.

 _It would make you sad._

He finally gained control of his mouth and gave up. If Arthur really wanted him to know, he'd tell him someday. Today just wasn't it. "It's okay, it doesn't matter."

Arthur seemed hurt, but Alfred tried not to mirror his emotions. He had to be the bigger person, no matter how convincing the circumstances. He decided to take a look around the room and find something to distract his mind. "So, these are all of your skateboards, huh?"

Arthur nodded and, with an unpredictable burst of energy, jumped on the bed to reach the board hanging overhead. He hopped back down and presented it to the jock. The deck was long and had funny looking ends. Alfred wished he knew at least a handful of skating terms, to help him situations like these.

"What kinda board is that?" he pointed at it. The boy shoved the skateboard on him and whipped out his cell phone to reply.

 _It's called a drop down longboard. This one is my favorite._

"Show me, then!" Alfred challenged. "Let's go outside! I wanna see you ride!"

 _Alright then,_ he wrote. _Then you're going to stop being a pussy and finally learn how to skateboard, if you want to see me ride. Your ankle should be fine now, that happened a short while ago._

Alfred playfully stomped his feet and scrunched his face. He protested, "I don't wanna!"

Arthur didn't look the least bit sorry when he replied: _Then I guess you don't get to see me skateboard. Oh well, then._

He gave in, "Fine, I'll do it."

So then the teens headed back outside, Arthur dumped off the American's trial skateboard and he took off like the wind. He weaved his foot on the ground back onto the board, it was so satisfying to watch someone with half the footwork Arthur had. It was like the ballet of skateboarding, so much passion in a simple sport. Alfred shit his pants thinking he would never be as able on the board as Arthur was.

The British daydream came riding back, a smirk hardly covering his upper band of teeth. He pulled his cell from the back pocket of his skinny jeans. _Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to show me up?_

"I was just watching you. You're pretty cool," Alfred could not come up with a better excuse. Arthur's pale skin turned sugared almond pink. "Well, it's true. You're amazing on that board!"

Arthur seemed flattered, but he looked more sick than anything else. Or maybe it was Alfred's lover's intuition again, where he telepathically knew something was ailing his sweetheart. How romantic, heroic, so bold! But he had to play it cool. He stuck his arm out, "Hey, is something bothering you?"

Arthur's skin was pale and green simultaneously, he looked like he was going to get sick at any moment. As he rolled up, the boy nearly fell off the skateboard. So, naturally, Alfred was there to catch him. His arms were drooping at his sides, his face pressed heavily on the athlete's chest. Alfred used his arms and upper body strength to keep Arthur upright. Arthur's hazel eyes were closed, he could feel his cheeks heating up. Was he coming down with something?

"Are you alright?" Alfred gestured his head down to watch the other's response. He shook his head. "What's wrong?"

It took him some time, but Arthur eventually stood up on his own two feet and grabbed his cell phone. _I'm sorry about that. I get sick easily these days._

"Oh," Alfred darted his eyes down the street and back to Arthur. "Is there anything I can do?"

The English boy looked the same direction Alfred was, and smirked maliciously. _Skate down that street and back. Then, I'll tell you what will make me feel better._

Well, this was his opportunity, but Alfred was too much of a chicken shit. A haughtier than God attitude would cover that like alcohol to an emotional breakdown. "Yeah? Are ya sure? 'Cause I was talkin' about medicine, or somethin'."

Arthur shot a dirty glance his way, which was enough encouragement for him. Alfred raised his palms in innocence, "Alright, alright! I'm gonna do it, don't get your panties in a wad!"

Jones dropped the board to the asphalt, his left foot snapped the tail. He took a deep breath in, looked at Arthur, looked back down. This was it, this was his first test. If he failed, what would the boy of his dreams, the most beautiful teenager he'd ever known, think of him? A wimp? A potential flunkee? His brain wouldn't leave him alone about those things and premeditated failures.

Alfred placed his foot slightly behind the front bolts, his right on the road. One final glance before he pushed off, and soon the sound of wheel grinding against tar filled the silence. The wind seemed a little stronger, his heart a little freer. His flannel shirt rippled in the manmade breeze, his blond locks waved from his scalp.

As he came rolling up to the Brit, he gave a toothy grin and a raspy chuckle. Alfred braked and snapped the board, "That actually wasn't half bad! I'm glad you made me do that!"

Arthur's aspect grew intentionally destructive. _I have a reward for you, then._

"What is it?"

He raised a finger and ran back into the house. When he returned, in his hands, was a bottle of whisky. Alfred shook his head, "Wow, this escalated quickly, didn't it?"

 _You do drink, don't you?_

"Erm, yeah! Definitely!" Of course Alfred lied, he wasn't going to look like a fool in front of someone as hot as Arthur. He had to prove he was equally as cool.

The boys sat on their boards, Alfred watched the other blond drink a fourth of it in a single gulp. When the bottle was handed off to him, he pondered for a moment. This was technically an indirect kiss from Arthur Kirkland. Alfred drank as much as he could stomach. It tasted bitter, like cigarettes and strong tea. He took another swig; now it tasted more like the alcoholic content instead of the Brit's breath. Their silence was broken by a text message.

 _I probably shouldn't let you drink too much, or you won't have a safe ride home._

"Aw it's totally fine!" Alfred brushed off. "I can control myself, really!"

Arthur gleamed up into his eyes, a look so full of hope and promiscuity. _But maybe next weekend, you won't have to go home._

"What're you sayin'?"

 _Would you spend all next weekend with me? We can drink until dawn and you can sleep in my room. My foster parents are always at work, so it's not like we'll get in trouble._

This was perhaps the best thing Alfred in a long time. An entire weekend of bonding, drinking, getting into things they would usually be prohibited to. And there wouldn't be anyone home to stop them! How lovely, secretive! It was sneaky, but truthfully, that was the kind of life Alfred was already living. This was his ticket to be bad and deceptive, the ideal lifestyle!

"Yeah, that sounds pretty cool," he kept his tone low to contrast his vibrant thoughts. "I can't wait."

* * *

 _AN: I'm so sorry this is hella late. I was kinda distracted throughout the school year, we'll say that. But yes, I do plan to continue this story. The only roadblocks are summer school and my therapists/family do not think I am stable, so they may send me off somewhere, I don't know when and I don't know for how long. But I hope you continue to read this story and I'll try to update as fast as I can!_


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred sat the computer in his lap, Jones Junior curled up at the end of his feet. He typed in, "types of mental illnesses associated with mutism". Many anxiety related subjects were presented, but he was still unsure. It would so much easier to ask Arthur what exactly was wrong with him, but that was too impolite for Alfred's taste.

After a few months of intensive research, Alfred still did not learn his lesson. He would get the wrong story in his head and play it over and over again, mauling his poor heart into unrecognizable pieces. He was lying to himself, that Arthur mirrored feelings for him, that he would make the first move, give up their differences for a night or two. Yet, none of that happened. All they did was drink a little and shared a few cigarettes. Perhaps to Arthur, Alfred was just a drinking buddy, the only person willing to talk to him, so he took the opportunity to use him like a Kleenex. Then again, the American didn't mind.

These thoughts tormented Alfred, he couldn't eat or sleep. Arthur was controlling much of his mind, and he had no idea how much influence he held over his everyday life. This, his current state of worrying and overthinking, was madness. Alfred was practically a slave to Arthur's potential advances, whether they were intentional or not. All of his pent up feelings were going to explode someday and, with how his luck was going, at the wrong possible time.

"Junior," Alfred plopped on the mattress and stretched an arm out for the cat. "Ya gotta help me out!" The feline couldn't have cared less, as he pranced to the exit and down the stair. He scoffed, "You traitor!"

Alfred got up and stood by the windowsill, his arms supported most of his upper body as he lazily crossed his feet. He stared into the pitch black night, even the stars had trouble lighting the way. In his heart was a tinge of teenage rebellion, and it was the perfect opportunity to let that inner turmoil out. Before he headed out, he fumbled under his pillow for the pack of cigarettes Arthur had given him the last time they saw each other. He stowed them and the lighter in his varsity jacket pocket.

The temperature difference between his home and the outside was brisk, Alfred cringed his nose as he started lighting up. The cigarette balanced on his chiseled bottom lip, his first breath dirtied the clean air. If he was being honest with himself, Alfred felt like he could actually get used to smoking. It was a terrible habit to have, definitely. Yet, it was a rush of adrenalin, something to spice up his currently boring lifestyle. Plus, it was something that Arthur and he bonded over, and Alfred would kill for that boy's attention. It was one of the most important things, and he hated how he couldn't get his priorities straight, either.

Alfred exhaled and watched the smoke infest the breeze, he couldn't stop thinking of Arthur. That kid was beautiful, he was the only thing on his mind these days, and it pained him that he didn't even know. Maybe someday, but right now, Al was too afraid to do much of anything. Their relationship, or "flirtationship", was at a stand still. He felt like he was running out of time, that either someone else would make a move on him, or the boy would simply move on. That got Alfred to thinking: Arthur probably didn't even need him in his life. He was cool and pretty talented, too. So why was Alfred being so persistent?

Maybe Arthur wasn't actually gay, but it was all a ruse? Alfred was still in denial about Arthur's sexuality, because why would he even bring it up in the first place? Neither of the boys couldn't deny that the sexual tension was heavy that day. All Alfred wanted was to have Arthur in his arms, but his unpredictable jealousy would just get in the way of that, too.

Alfred pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through his "A" contacts. _Hey Artie! When did u wanna meet up?_

 _Oh shit. What time is it now?_

This was befuddling; couldn't he just have checked his phone? _Ah it's abt 6 now. Wyd?_

 _I'll tell you everything later, some real bs just happened. Plus, I bought the stuff ;)_

That was unexplainably cute, Arthur could be strange but beautiful simultaneously. _Haha, I'll b there in a few!_

Alfred was so excited he could barely contain himself. He ran back to the house, grabbing a few essential items and the keys to the Impala. His mother had stopped him in his tracks, her hands on her surprisingly narrow hips for bearing two children. Her curly blond hair flew past her shoulders in her fury as she asked, "Where are you going, mister?"

"I, uh," Alfred slipped on the thin ice he was already walking on. "I'm goin' to a friend's house! Didn't I tell ya already?"

She sighed, "Fine. But you'd better be back Sunday. Because I know you have an English exam you haven't studied for yet."

Oh shit, she was right. And Mama Jones was going to have him by the balls if he didn't take care of that. "Okie dokie! See you Sunday, momma!"

Once he hopped in Eleanor's driver side, he drowned his worries out with the Arctic Monkeys album purposely left in the center console. It made him smile, that Arthur would leave that behind, knowing he was coming back everyday to listen to it with Alfred. How calming, the boy planned to return to him everyday!

Alfred parked alongside the old hearse and skipped to the front door. He barely had a chance to knock before Arthur swung it open. He greeted, "Hey, Artie! Are you ready for this?"

Arthur nodded and did the unexpected; he slipped his arms underneath the athlete's triceps and pressed his face into his chest. Alfred could hardly believe what was happening right in front of him. It was like his dream come true! Well, not all of it, exactly. Perhaps, a little fantasy. He bent over a little to make up for the height difference and gave a possibly homosexual pat on the back.

"It's so good to see you," he hushed, Arthur's scent clogging his common sense. His hair smelled like flowers, maybe because he liked to be around his Abraham Darby roses? When they sorrowfully parted, Alfred asked, "So, what was it you wanted to tell me? You said something was happening."

He nodded, but something else was on his mind. Arthur gently grabbed Alfred by the wrist and lugged him behind. Suddenly, a woman's voice sounded, "Arthur? Who is that talking? Is someone at the door?"

The blond quickly stashed the American in the bedroom off to the right. Alfred could hear his mother speaking on Arthur's behalf. She asked, "Are you sure you'll be fine on your own? I mean, you're seventeen and you can handle yourself, but I feel bad everytime I leave!"

After much argument, she eventually left the whole house to the two teenagers' demise. Arthur reentered his bedroom with two bottles of Bud Light, Alfred outstretched on his bed. His cheeks heated as he sat at the end of his feet and handed him a beer. He beseeched, "Oh, Arthur! You're so bad!"

Arthur smiled and shot him a text. _Yeah, you say that now. Just don't let me have too much to drink. I do stupid things when I'm drunk._

Alfred crossed his legs, his torso propped up as did his spirits. "Whaddaya sayin'? I'm sure someone as smart and talented as you can't be stupid!"

Arthur soundlessly giggled as he typed: _Whatever you say, Ally. But I, on the other hand, can't wait to see you drunk off your ass._

"Really? Well, tough shit, 'cause I'm gonna be the responsible one!" he challenged. He waved a taunting finger, "I bet you money that you'll get wasted first."

Arthur gaped his mouth slightly in false offense. It was kind of hot. _How could you say that? I thought we were pretty good friends._

Yes! Hell fucking yes! Alfred finally got to him! And he didn't have to squeeze and answer out of him! "Yeah, I guess we are. Why does that matter?"

 _Friends don't treat other friends like that!_

"Welcome to America, limey," he chuckled.

Arthur puffed his cheeks and plopped atop Alfred's lap. His hazel eyes bounced up into the other's ethereal blue, and he smiled, his upper band of teeth surprisingly white for a British man's. Alfred felt his cheeks go hot; damn, that boy knew just how to get to him. Then, Arthur sat up and scooted closer to Alfred; their knees touched as he pulled out his cell again.

 _Hey, do you want to get out of here and go somewhere?_

"Hell yeah!" Alfred exclaimed. "Where did ya have in mind?"

 _Let's go to the store and get some drinks, or something._

Alfred got up from his comfortable position and retrieved his car keys, jingling as he proclaimed, "Alright, let's go!"

* * *

The pair of teenage boys sat in comfortable silence as music blasted through Eleanor's car radio. The wind was whipping just right through Arthur's perfectly choppy hair, his skin seemingly reflecting the moonbeams off his ivory skin tone. He turned around and smiled as he pulled out his cell phone to either distract or entertain himself, Alfred could never tell. Nevertheless, the answer to that question was unveiled as his own phone vibrated in the center console cup, he answering it at the next available stop light with his free hands.

 _I never asked you, but if Eleanor was built in 1976, how does the stereo have a CD player?_

"Oh, well, when I was a baby," Alfred begun explaining, "some asshole stole the original stereo, and I guess my dad thought it was more convenient to have a CD player than a radio. I mean, she may be made of different pieces, but that's what makes her unique."

Arthur nodded and the man made breeze of the car rolling back on the road rustled his hair, Alfred's heart thumped with excitement. The silence was too off putting, and it lead him to think of the inevitable; what did the rest of the night have in store for the two? Was Arthur planning to get himself and Alfred drunk? And, it was sick to think, but all the more reasonable; would an intoxicated Arthur speak to him?

The quarterback tried his best to combat these thoughts, but his imagination still ran amuck. A part of him was deeply concerned and almost didn't want to go through with the whole scheme, but there was always that little voice in the back of his head that could not be overlooked, and it said: " _go with the flow."_

Alfred stopped the old Impala in the car park of a Wal-Mart store, virtually the only place open this late to fulfill the British boy's unknown desires. The athlete began to stumble out of the vehicle, but is halted by his passenger with a hand over his arm. He was a little flustered at this, to say in the least, but he tried to keep his cool.

"What's up?" Alfred asked. Arthur unfortunately took his hand back to send a text.

 _Shit, I completely forgot. What's the legal drinking age here in America?_

"It's twenty-one," he provided. The immigrant rested his forehead in his palm and released a gentle sigh.

 _I'm sorry if I offend you, but America's rules are fucking stupid. But, I guess we have to go someplace else now._

"What! Surely you knew that we were drinking illegally!" Al sputtered. Arthur truthfully shook his head and he moaned, "And we both had something to drink before we left! I'm drunk driving! This is bad! Really fucking bad!"

Arthur reached over the center console and placed his hands atop Alfred's and looked up at him, as if to say in a soothing tone of voice, "I've got you, don't worry about it." Instead, he smirked and retrieved one hand to send a message of encouraging words.

 _Look, it doesn't matter now. Just as long as we don't stick out, no one's going to notice._

"You think so?" Alfred winced, too consumed by fear to care how stupid he must have looked at that moment. Arthur nodded, not seeming to care.

 _I know so. It seems like you think it's not my first time around the block._

He exhaled deeply and looked at him through his lashes, "That's terrible, Artie."

 _But you know, there isn't anymore liquor at the house, and I think I know a different place to get it. But you're going to have to walk in with me, if that's alright with you._

Baffled by the strange request, Alfred agreed regardless. Arthur texted him one final time the address and off they went, the breeze rippling through their hair and clothes again, not that Alfred minded. When they arrived, the boy's blue eyes scanned their current location; a run down gas station in the middle of west side nowhere. And their mission was to purchase alcohol illegally from this establishment? Perfect.

Alfred had his hands stuffed in his varsity jacket pocket due to the pre-autumn chilly air nipping away at him, and he blew the air out of his cheeks as he analyzed the convenience store once more. He asked, "So, how do ya wanna approach this?"

 _I'll get what we need and give you the debit card to pay for it. I just need you to do the talking._

"Gee, thanks," Alfred rolled his eyes, accepting the card handed to him. "But, you don't have to go through all this trouble. _I_ could pay for it."

Arthur shook his head. _That's really nice, but it's very important that this kind of stuff is bought on this card. You'll see what I mean._

And with that, Arthur weaved his arm with Alfred's dragged him inside. Al, too flustered to know what was going on, just listened to that voice in his head and went with the flow. They entered the place, looking like the most obvious couple, and Alfred felt like he was starting to lose control, but in the best way possible.

"Good evening," the store clerk greeted them. Arthur simply waved, leaving Alfred with verbal introduction. He said his usual eyebrow-raise-hello combo and they walked straight to the back for the alcohol.

Arthur pretended to be interested other liquors, which confused Alfred immensely. Then, the Englishman picked up a bottle of peach moscato wine and pressed into his side, tilting his head up to look him in the eye and act like they were discussing which wine they were going to purchase. He bounced his eyes over to the cashier who was distracted by things much more important than them, so he was obviously buying it, so why not Alfred?

Arthur lead him over to register and placed the bottle on the counter. Alfred's heart felt like it had just ran an entire marathon; what if they had to show ID? Did Arthur really know what he was doing?

The man that had greeted into the store scanned the booze and said, "That'll be eleven dollars and ninety nine cents."

Alfred was amazed but kept his calm charisma as he handed over the card and paid for the liquor. They waved the man goodbye and headed back out for the car, where he could finally ask, "What the fuck?"

Arthur grinned and sent a lengthy explanation: _you have to set up a little story, you know? Young couple forgets the booze for an event, or something like that, so they're resorted to a shifty convenient store off town. The clerk is tired and wants to go home, so being the only employee left to lock up for the night, he isn't going to prolong his work shift by asking the couple for their ID. And I used my foster mom's debit card, she drinks so much as well she won't even tell I bought some._

"It… sounds like you've done this sort of thing before," Alfred stutters. Arthur shrugged, placing the wine in his lap.

 _It's just a little something I came up with on the fly._

The boys drove back to the Kirkland residence and settled into Arthur's room again. He cracked open the bottle of wine and Alfred admitted to himself and God that he was a little scared of the consequences. He sauntered over to the bed where Al was sitting and sat dangerously close, and drank straight from the bottle. So, it was going to be one of those experiences? Arthur handed over the liquor and sent a text, as well.

 _Do you like it? It's peach moscato, my favorite wine. I used to drink it all the time back when I lived in England._

Alfred took a swig and noticed the fruity difference from it's hard counterpart he sampled earlier. Funny, he would've never guessed that someone like Arthur, a party animal presumably, would be so open about drinking a socially deemed "feminine" beverage. Nevertheless, he liked its dry taste.

"It's pretty good," Alfred admitted, taking another drink. He stared at the bottle a little longer and confessed, "Actually, it's really damn good. I don't think you're gonna get this back, to be honest."

Arthur smiled at the remark and leaned on Alfred's shoulder, more than likely due to the alcohol finally getting to him. Was this the beginning of the "horrible things" that Arthur warned him about? He should ask, but in a way that would go undetected. Alfred took another drink, and then passed it off to Arthur, who gladly took the booze. While he had the chance, he made his move.

"So, what you said earlier," Alfred broke the ice once again. "You know, about the 'stupid things' you do when you're drunk. What are those things?"

Arthur sheepishly reached for his phone, his actions starting to become slower and slower as time marched on, the alcohol affected his pretty little head. He sent: _well, I've learnt that I can be clingy when I drink with others, apparently. Or, on very rare instances, I might start talking out of nowhere. It really just depends on the situation._

This caught Alfred off guard. He asked, "Really? Even being… you know, _mute?_ "

Arthur bobbed his head and replied: _Because when you're drunk, you're not sick anymore. At least, not until your high wears off in a couple of hours._

That response was like a window the teen's soul; his struggles of mental illness and alcohol addiction to mask the fact that he wasn't normal, to make him a different man for a day or night. Only to wake up the next morning in someone else's bed and a pain ringing in his head, but, the biggest pain could only be found in his heart. "Oh, well, I guess that makes sense."

As Alfred took another long drink, he could feel the other boy's hazel eyes piercing right through him. He put down the bottle and looked over to find Arthur gawking at him, eyelids half closed and a smile slowly creeping on his face. Alfred felt like the moon and Arthur, a dazzling stargazer. A drunk, dazzling stargazer, was more like it. But, nevertheless, it felt… nice.

 _Hey, this may sound weird, but I never noticed how unique your eyes are._

"Are you serious?" Alfred was flustered. Arthur nodded.

 _Yeah, ofc. I mean, they're just so bright and blue and pretty and like wow._

Alfred nervously chuckled, keeping his hands in his lap as Arthur's inched closer, his head still lying on his shoulder supportively. He had dreamed of scenarios like this one of happening for a while, but now that it was actually happening, he was petrified. What was he supposed to do! The boy was clearly drunk off his ass and who knew what he was going to do next! He was a ticking time bomb, his preceding actions so unpredictable Alfred could die from the anticipation! His best shot here would probably be to do nothing at all, as it would only be fair to the impaired one.

 _And also, like, you sing pretty good, too._

"You really think so?" Alfred was trying so desperately not to lose it.

 _Yeah, you should sing something. Like, any song, idfc. I just like hearing you sing._

Alfred's heart burned up and warmed his cheeks. Arthur smiled again and texted: _You like Radiohead, right?_

"Yeah, why?"

Then, Radiohead's, "Creep" started to play from Arthur's phone, after a final message: _Sing it for me._

Al was a little taken aback, since no one had ever gave his singing talents a second glance. But Arthur, on the other hand, was apparently entirely engaged in it, and that felt pretty good to his fragile ego. So, he did what any old tool would, and started singing to impress the boy.

" _When you were here before, couldn't look you in the eye. You're just like an angel, your skin makes me cry. You float like a feather, in a beautiful world. I wish I was special, you're so fuckin' special."_

Alfred glanced back at Arthur occasionally, who was now lying on his stomach gazing up at him with the utmost respect and admiration, and it was enough to keep him going.

" _But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here."_

The American's voice was gruff, much like Thom Yorke's in the very same track, but had a certain eloquence to it that obviously made people interested in it, according to Arthur's reactions. He was staring off at Alfred with a haze over his eyes, like his vocals had a hypnotic influence over him.

" _I want you to notice when I'm not around. You're so fuckin' special, I wish I was special. But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here."_

Funny, how the song was describing a feeling of emptiness and being forgotten, but Alfred was feeling none of those things. He had all he wanted staring right at him, didn't he? Arthur under the spell of voice, now lying on his back with his head on the boy's crossed ankles, as his drunkenness rapidly worsened. His eyes fluttered with awe, his lips curved into the most perfect smile Alfred had ever seen. And all at the simple sight of watching the athlete sing. How… perfect.

"So, did ya like my singing?" Alfred asked when the song faded out. Arthur nodded as he texted a response.

 _You sound amazing. I don't know why you suppress this talent, I don't know anybody that sings as half as good as you do._

"Thanks," Alfred stumbled over the right words to say. "I guess I don't tell a lot of people because I don't want to feed into any of the rumors or drama, you know what I mean?"

Arthur nodded and typed: _Well, you can sing around me anytime. I definitely wouldn't mind hearing it every now and again._

He knew the boy was bluffing, but nevertheless, he said, "Thanks, Artie. That's really cool of you."

Arthur idled for a bit, staring off into the American's eyes once again, his heart racing, breath escaping his lungs. Why was he responding this way? Why couldn't he control himself? Then, the British boy sat upright and asked via cellular device: _Hey, do you want to see something?_

"Yeah, of course," Alfred agreed, following the other boy to a corner in the bedroom. He retrieved a vinyl record, the cover depicting two businessmen shaking hands in an abandoned alleyway, one of the men bursting into flames. On the back, there was a faceless man in a desert holding a record and propping his foot on a suitcase as the band's name, "Pink Floyd" was written along with the track names. Slipping it out of its case, Arthur placed it in a record player hidden behind the clutter on his desk. Alfred decided it to be a good time to ask, "Whoa, you have records?"

Arthur nodded. _I think vinyl's better because it's like you can actually feel the music, you know?_

"Yeah, totally!" he agreed, not even remotely knowing what they were talking about.

The British boy moved slowly to the music and panned his eyes up the American's figure, smirking slightly. He sent: _Do you know how to dance?_

"Uh," Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "Not particularly. Why?"

 _You just look like the type._

"I guess I've had some experience at school dances, but that's it," he further explains. His cheeks heat, "So, it's not very good!"

 _Do you want me to teach you?_

Alfred was taken aback; Arthur asked him to dance, how divine! Only in his craziest day dreams had he envisioned this! He shook his head and the shorter boy took the lead. He sent one last text before they practiced: _Take my hand and follow my lead. Make sure your feet and hip movements match up to mine, and you should be fine._

Arthur offered his tiny hand and Alfred gladly took it. Though, he felt kind of guilty about it. The boy resembled so much like a China doll, that the athlete believed that with his stark grip, he was going to crush him if he got too nervous. Once they got situated, with Alfred's hand in Arthur's and his hand on his waist, Arthur took the first step forward as Alfred stumbled backwards. This made the boy smile, and released some of Al's tension. Arthur kept his head down to watch their combined foot movements, his hair accidentally touching the taller one's collar bone in the process. Alfred blushed; was this normal? For a guy and his best friend to dance to music on a drunken night in? It felt oh so right, but there was still a little voice in the back of his mind that told him otherwise. The songs weren't very good for slow dancing to, but somehow, they made it work. And when Arthur looked up at him, his hazel eyes so coveted that having galaxies to gaze upon inside them, he smiled as wide as he could. It was now obvious that Arthur was very drunk, cheeks rosy and spirits giggly, and it made Alfred wonder how drunk he looked right now.

Then, Arthur made accidentally made a wrong step forward and Alfred tripped, falling back onto the mattress behind them. He let out a small scream, as the be expected when he discovered the boy landed on top of his chest, but the most surprising part was that the immigrant responded as well, by releasing a small giggle. Alfred's heart stopped in its tracks as soon as he heard the beautiful noise. Arthur was lying on his chest, cheeks beet red and giggling like nobody's business. This was truly the American dream! So the chances of Alfred ever hearing him talk may be slim, but at least he had his laugh to raise his spirits. It was the most beautiful sound known to his wandering ears, his lost soul had finally found a home in the boy's sweet echo. It was the most beautiful sound, to say in the least.

Arthur rolled off of him and layed on his back, his forearm pressed against his eyes and his smile still pasted on his face. Alfred turned to face him and propped his upper body up with his elbow. Everything turned to a fuzzy haze from that point on, Alfred not really aware of his surroundings anymore, like everything was out of his control. He grew very sleepy, and the last thing he could remember was Arthur's hands lethargically reaching for his neck before falling dead asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Alfred woke to the sound of his phone ringing, confused and a bit irritated, he picked it up nonetheless. Thankfully, it turned his mood for the better once he learned it was a text from Arthur.

 _Hey, I have something to tell you. It's pretty important._

Odd. Could it be a secret? Or, the more likely case, was it something that Alfred did? He messaged back: _Yeah, totally! What's on ur mind?_

The next text nearly sent Alfred into total heart failure as he read: _No, like, I have to actually tell you. Can you come over?_

 _Yeah, totally! I'll be over in a little bit!_

Al jumped out of bed and dressed as fast as he could. He nearly tripped and killed himself trying to gather his things to leave. Was this for real? Arthur, his silent friend, was going to speak to him for the first time? Either way, Alfred was already in his car and halfway there, not like he needed much convincing when it came to the boy.

He approached the student's home and he barely had time to knock on the front door, as the teenager had already opened it for him, like he had been waiting there for him the entire time. Nearly out of breath, Alfred asked casually, "So, what's up?"

Arthur looked up at him with those eyes, _those_ eyes, and Alfred nearly lost his cool right then and there. Arthur then grabbed him by the wrist and directed him into the household, up into his bedroom. He closed the door and sat on the bed, Alfred followed. Arthur pushed him on the bed, and Alfred sat criss crossed as the boy rested his lacking weight on the back of his legs. He took a deep breath and parted his lips, his head hung low and hands on his knees.

His hazel eyes darted around the room before they settled on the tanned one's face. "H-Hello, Alfred."

The American's heart indeed stopped pounding, standing as still as time. He could practically feel his affections for this boy grow like moss. The way his British accent struggled to correctly pronounce his name, to say he liked it was an understatement. He adored it, was a little more fitting.

"Hey, Arthur," was all he could say. Alfred mentally kicked himself for acting so stupid around the angel.

Arthur smiled, and confessed, "I almost forgot what I sounded like. I didn't even like talking to _myself_."

"Well, I think I'm gonna like talking to you," Alfred placed his elbow on his knee, and rested his face in his palm, smiling infectiously.

The English boy chuckled, "I hope so. I like talking to you, too. Even when I didn't say anything back."

Alfred felt the strong desire to lean forward, and share a steamy kiss with Arthur and his newfound voice. He immediately shook it out of his head.

"Is there anything you want to tell me, since you can now?" Goldilocks asked. Arthur nodded.

"My favorite Harry Potter book is 'The Chamber of Secrets', too."

Alfred blushed, having remembered he asked that when they first met. He flustered harder when the Brit continued, "My birthday is April twenty-third, I was born in London, England."

He flashed those oh-so-deadly emeralds, "And, yes, you may hear my accent."

Alfred was sure his cover was blown at this point. Alfred's face must have been so oblivious by now, and the embarrassment just added to the shade. Arthur interrupted his internal meltdown and said, "Well now I feel bad."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"I mean," he sighed, "I feel like a jerk for talking to you now instead of earlier."

"No, no! You've got it all wrong!" Alfred scooted closer to console him. "You couldn't talk, I understand that. Don't feel bad for something you can't help."

Arthur blinked slowly and said, "That's so nice, no one ever treats me like that."

"What do you mean?" Alfred mumbled.

He exhaled and repositioned his legs criss cross, and began to tell, "You see, just because I'm different, everybody thinks I'm a freak. It's bullshit, people are bullshit."

"People judge too quick," Alfred added. "And then they don't know what they're missing out on."

Arthur chuckled, "That's a good point. You know, that's what I like about you, Alfred."

His heart paced yet again. Now that he had heard the British tongue spew his name, Alfred wasn't sure if he would ever recover from it. It was like he was hearing his voice for the first time every time he said his name. It was enchanting, unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

"I think it's just people don't give me a chance," Arthur whispered. "I completely shut myself out of the real world, so I don't even let people have the chance to let them hurt me."

His hazel eyes settled on Alfred's blue ones and he confessed, "But you're the one that's helped me cope this much. Well, at least a little bit, anyway."

Alfred blushed; damn, he fell hard for that one. He cleared his throat and babbled, "Well, I'm glad! I mean, everyone needs at least one friend, right?"

"I suppose you're right," he nodded. "Everybody sucks, but at least you don't."

"Gee, thanks," Al brushed off the pre butterflies-in-his-stomach feel. He took a deep breath and looked around the room, looking for anything to say. "So, am I the only person you're talking to?"

Arthur shook his head, "I'm trying to get over this, so I figured you'd be a great start. I consider you my best friend; my only friend, not to mention."

Alfred grinned at the remark. No one ever called him his best friend, he was usually second best when it came to that. He admitted, "You're my best friend, too."

* * *

Alfred tapped the pencil eraser nervously on his desk, his eyes glued on the clock. There was no way he could pay attention to the lecture now, it was way too close to lunch to even think about academics. He pulled out his cell phone for the hundredth time that period and scrolled through his messages with the British boy.

 _Hey, what are we doin 4 lunch 2day? R we goin somewhere?_

 _I was thinking we could just go back to that classroom and eat there, if that's okay._

 _Cool with me! C u there!_

The lunch bell rang suddenly while Alfred was not paying attention, and he scrambled to collect his books. He rushed to their meeting spot and, sure enough, there he was. Arthur was sitting on an old desk, kicking his feet back and forth as he glanced up at the entrance. He smiled and waved, releasing a thousand butterflies in Alfred's stomach.

"Hey, Artie!" he greeted, strutting towards the boy. "How's it hangin'?"

"Better now that you're here," he spoke with the utmost elegance. Alfred could feel his heart pounding, and wondered if Arthur could hear it, too. "Anyway, I have a question for you."

"Shoot!" he said, his voice almost breaking from the pressure. _Chill out, Al._

"Do you have football practice today?" he asked, looking up at him with those innocent hazel eyes.

"Uh…" Alfred stumbled. "Yeah, as a matter of fact. I think I do. Why?"

Arthur balled his fists and squealed, "That's perfect! Can I come? I've never seen American football before! I want to see what it's like!"

Alfred coughed as he choked on his own words, "Erm, um, yeah! Totally! You can sit in the bleachers if you want!"

Arthur smiled to himself, "This is great! I can't believe I'm actually going to get to see you play!"

He chuckled raspily, "I promise, I'm not that good."

"Oh, so that's why you're the team's quarterback, right?"

"You _do_ have a point there," he rolled his eyes.

The more and more the two talked, the easier it became for Alfred. He kept feeling like he was letting Arthur down or he was being too boring, but that gleam in the British boy's eyes proved him wrong every single time. In fact, every time he spoke, it was like Arthur had a tenacious sparkle in his eye, like he was overly passionate about every topic he talked about. It was refreshing to listen to, to listen to his thoughts and opinions. Well, it was to Alfred, anyway. It was because Alfred was already so attached to Arthur, so he supposed that it would stand to reason.

"But hey," Arthur pulled Alfred's head out of the clouds. He raised his eyebrows to indicate he had his attention, and he continued, "You see this tattoo here?"

He pulled up his shirt and revealed an indie tattoo on his side. He read, "It's a Pink Floyd song. It says, 'wish you were here'. I did this awhile ago."

"How'd ya do it?" Alfred tilted his head to get a clearer view of his bony ribcage, sweat rolling down his forehead.

"That's the thing," he covered himself back up. "I did this all by myself with a needle, some ink, and a bathroom mirror."

"That sounds like it hurts," Al commented.

He shrugged, "I'd prefer a tattoo gun, but I was impatient." Arthur scoots closer and looks up with a certain devilish gleam in his eye, "Besides, I showed you it because I wanted to ask you something."

Alfred raised his brows and Arthur continued, "I just wanted to know if you'd come back to my house after football practice."

"What for?" he asks in a fake suspicious tone.

"What? Can't two friends just hang out and have a good time?"

Alfred looks the boy up and down before responding, "Yeah, okay."

* * *

Alfred leads the way to the football field with Arthur trailing slowly behind him. He makes a stop at the bleachers to drop him off and hands him his backpack, "Hey, do you mind watching this for me? I don't wanna leave it in the locker room because some of the guys are kinda mad at me!"

"Sure thing," Arthur accepted it, seating it beside his own bag.

Alfred raised his brows as he strips off his varsity jacket, handing that over, as well. "Oh! Do you think you can watch this, too?"

He nodded, blanketing the coat over his lap and folding his arms overtop. He smiled, "Have fun!"

"I wil!"

Alfred ran back to the boy's locker room and took a deep breath in upon entering. When he opened the door, he is obnoxiously greeted by fellow teammates Ivan Braginski and Yao Wang, of course, half naked.

"Look who finally showed up!" Yao teased. He patted Al on the back and added, "You're lucky Ivan and I saved your ass, otherwise you'd be off the team!"

"Yeah, where _have_ you been?" Ivan walked over. "It's not like you to skip out like this."

"Uh, you know," Alfred racked his brain for an excuse, any excuse, that he could pull over their heads. "Jus' been catchin' up on homework and stuff! Can't be flunkin' out of football, ya know?"

Ivan and Yao exchanged glances and the shorter of the two blurted out, "Yeah, alright, Jones."

Alfred rushed to the open cubicles and began to get dressed, reflecting on what just happened. _They'll never believe that,_ he thought to himself. _They're going to see Arthur sitting out there and put the pieces together. Great._

He pulled his jersey over his shoulder pads and smoothed it over, glancing down at the big number one one the front. Funny, how his jersey said number one, but Alfred certainly didn't feel like it. He put on a brave face and strutted out of the locker room and onto the field, helmet in hand and all eyes on him.

"Jones!" his coach shouted. "Is that really you? We all thought you died, or somethin'!"

"I'm here, I'm here!" he disregarded him.

"Well, spill it!" he asked, the whole team leaning in to listen to his shitty lie. "The hell have you been!"

Alfred darted his eyes towards the bleachers and back at his coach. "Classwork, and stuff. You know, I was kinda behind on school stuff."

The coach squinted his eyes and wriggled his nose before saying, "Alright then. But you'd better be ready for a rough season!"

Alfred shook his head, but he didn't mean it. Of course he didn't mean it.

The rest of practice felt forced, as per usual. But it felt a little different this time. This time, he had an angel watching over him. He could feel a pair of hazel eyes on him the entire time, cheering him on, and it gave him the courage to go on.

 _I mean_ , Alfred contemplated to himself as he snapped the ball to the other end of the field. _It's not like Arthur came all the way here for nothing, right? We met for a reason, didn't we?_

"Jones!" his coach called after the rest of the team dispersed back to the locker room once practice ended. "I don't know what was different today, but keep it up! All of your tosses were perfect spirals and you reached every single endzone!"

"Thanks, coach," Alfred shyly thanked. "I guess it's just hard work and practice."

He gave him a hard pat on the back, nearly knocking the wind out of him. "Damn straight! Now go get changed, you've earned it!"

Alfred staggered to the locker room and gets back into his regular clothes, ignoring all small talk with his teammates. He ran as fast as he could back to Arthur waiting up on the bleachers, and he greeted, "Artie! Did ya see me play?"

He shook his head and praised, "You were so great! I'm so proud of you!"

Alfred blushed, stuttering, "Now that you've seen American football, what do you think of it?"

He cut his eyes and scanned the taller boy up and down, "Well, if everybody is as good at it as you are, I'd say I love it."

Alfred must have looked so flustered, he felt so embarrassed! He could hardly contain himself whenever he received a compliment, especially from someone as cute as Arthur. He sputtered, "So, you said you wanted to go back to your house, or somethin'?"

His eyes lit up in an evil way as he affirmed, "Oh, yes! We'd better get going!"

He grabbed Alfred's wrist and headed for the student parking lot, feeling the judging eyes of everyone on the team. But when he looked at how ecstatic Arthur was to take him home, to have him to himself, all of Alfred's fear seemed to disappear. The boys hopped into the old Impala and revved her up. The entire car ride was without conversation, as usual. Alfred took occasional glances at Arthur and all his beauty; the wind blowing through his hair, his lips curving up and down periodically, his prominent jaw line resting in his palm. Why was he so fucking perfect? It was like God sent his best angel down from Heaven just for Alfred to have. As a matter of fact, just looking at Arthur was practically Heaven, since he was such a divine being. How could the world come up with someone as beautiful and interesting as Arthur Kirkland? And how, out of all the possibilities in the universe, was Alfred F. Jones lucky enough to meet him?

They arrived shortly at the Kirkland residence, the pair head upstairs to Arthur's bedroom, Arthur still having a firm grip on Alfred's wrist. He sets him down on the bed and began digging through his drawers and that's when the athletic one finally decided to speak up, "Hey, do ya mind tellin' me what you're gonna do to me?"

Arthur returned to his side with a container, and he sat closer to Alfred. "You said you really like my tattoos, right?"

He felt his cheeks heat up as he answered, "Uh, yeah. Why?"

"Well," Arthur opened the box, revealing a marker, ink, and a sewing needle. "You're going to get one. Right here, right now."

"What! Are you kidding me!" he shouted. "My parents would kill me!"

Arthur lowered his brow as he asked, "Alfred, how old are you?"

"Eightteen."

"So you're technically an adult," he made aware. "You can have a silly tattoo if you want. Besides, I'll put it somewhere where you can hide it easily, okay?"

Alfred stopped to ponder upon it, but ultimately decided yes and shook his head. Arthur motioned his hands and instructed, "Shirt, off."

He flustered as he did what he was told and Arthur prepared the required materials. He readied the needle and ink and hovered it below his collar bone, right above his heart, and looked him in the eye. "You ready?"

"Wh-what are you gonna do?" Alfred's voice shook as he said, "You didn't even ask what I wanted tattooed!"

Arthur cut his emerald eyes and curved the corners of his lips, "Don't worry. I have an idea."

Arthur made the first prick and Alfred flinched, not expecting that much pain. And it had to be repeated numerous times? Lord, he was in for it. Arthur glanced up and asked, "Does it hurt?"

He shook his head and he responded, pricking him again, "I'm sorry, but it'll be worth it. You'll get used to it though. Or, I have some booze to dull the pain a little, if you want."

"Gotta drive home today," Al sighed with a small laugh. "So I'll pass on that, thanks."

Arthur chuckled and continued with his nimble work. The process took so much longer than Alfred anticipated, but like the boy said, it would be worth it in the end. He began to wonder what it was he was tattooing on his chest. Was it something funny? Something embarrassing? Something cheesey? He kept taking occasional glances, but it just appeared to him to be an assortment of lines. Patience was the key here, but he didn't have any. The further into the tattoo Arthur got, he eventually practically situated himself in Alfred's lap to focus more on his craft. The boy began to sweat as his eyes anxiously darted around the room as he evaluated his current situation. He's half naked with Arthur fucking Kirkland sitting in his lap. This is more than he could have ever imagined!

"I can feel your heart beating pretty fast," Arthur said matter of factly. He slowly glanced up and questioned, "Is everything alright?"

"I-uh-yeah!" Alfred was at a loss for words.

"Are you sure I'm not hurting you?" he asks once again.

"No, no way! You're totally fine!" he reassured.

Arthur's earthy eyes stared right through Alfred's for what felt like years until he look back down at his work and said cooly, "Whatever you say."

After some much tense encounters and semi awkward eye contact, Arthur put his final touches on the tattoo. Alfred reached for his phone and looked in the reflection at the boy's masterpiece. He raised his eyebrows as he read, "'You crazy diamond'? Aren't those Pink Floyd lyrics?"

Arthur smiled and pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing a tattoo in the same spot, displaying, 'Shine on'. Alfred's eyes widened and his spirits rose as he recited, "'Shine on you crazy diamond'. I finish the quote."

Arthur bashfully glimpsed at him as he explained, "I've had this tattoo for a while, and I wanted to get a matching one with someone I cared about."

Alfred put his hand over his heart, his fingers curling over the stinging lyrics on his flesh. "I love it."

He looked up with a gleam of innocence in his eyes as he chuckled, "Good, because you're kind of stuck with it."

* * *

 _To be continued…_


End file.
